#rnm fanfic

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

He’s Like Me

This is an autistic Morty oneshot I’ve been sitting on for a while because I didn’t know where to go with it. I’m still not too happy with the ending but I think this is the best I’m gonna get it lol.

Summary: Morty is keeping a secret from Rick and Rick wants to know what it is. Hurt/comfort. ~3k words

Warnings for mentions of ableism (including internalised ableism.

Rick suddenly snaps back into reality after being absorbed in his latest project to find that his bladder is full and his stomach is rumbling. A glance at the clock tells him it’s been at least four hours of uninterrupted work. It’s not unusual for Rick to get so into something that he can spend hours at a time on it without a break, and four hours is fairly mild for him. Still, now that he’s aware of his body’s needs, he can no longer ignore them.

Standing up from his desk, he stretches his back and arms, hearing the former crack in a way that’s half-satisfying, half-concerning. The joys of ageing, he thinks wryly. He lets out a groan and makes his way to the bathroom.

Once his most pressing need has been satisfied, he directs his attention towards food and drink. He makes his way down the stairs, the usual family hubbub sounding from the kitchen. As he approaches, he can begin to make out details that indicate that it, in fact, isn’t the usual family hubbub. The raised voices, while not uncommon in the Smith household, are laced with strong emotions that betray a deeper conflict at hand. Rick pauses outside the kitchen, trying to decide whether it’s worth getting involved or if it would be easier to simply travel off-planet for some dinner instead.

“Mom, p-please don’t tell Rick!” he hears Morty cry out, a note of fear in his voice. Rick frowns, wondering what secret Morty wants to keep from him and why.

“Now, sweetie, come on, I think it would be good for him to know. It’s not anything definite yet, anyway, and if he knows, maybe he can help you.” Beth speaks as if trying not to frighten a wild animal, a tone Rick remembers using himself when she was little.

“No! Y-you don’t get it, Mom! It’s alright for you, you’re not the one being told there’s something wrong with you! You’re smart, like him! Rick already thinks I’m dumb, what is he going to think if he hears about this?” 

OK, now Rick’s really starting to get worried. He takes a moment to set his face into a mask of disinterest before entering the kitchen.

“What am I going to think if I hear about what?” he asks, trying to keep his tone casual and unbothered.

“N-nothing!” Morty blurts out, too quickly to appear innocent even if Rick hadn’t overheard the conversation.

Beth takes a deep breath. “Dad, Morty’s got a new teacher, and she thinks-”

“No! I told you not to tell him! Why do you never listen to me?” Morty shouts, tears running down his cheeks, and storms out of the room. The family hears his footsteps stomping up the stairs and the door to his room slam.

“Geez, wh-what’s with him?” Rick asks, quirking a thumb in the direction of the door, disguising his concern with an air of annoyed detachment. Beth opens her mouth to respond, but Jerry jumps in.

“Morty’s just a little upset about something his new teacher said in our meeting with her. I’m sure he’ll come down when he’s feeling better.” 

Something in his tone is unusually protective and harsh, directed at both Beth and Rick, his eyes flicking between them both. While Rick usually isn’t fond of Jerry’s behaviour, he feels a grudging respect for the man’s ability to actually grow a spine and stick up for Morty for once.

“Jerry, don’t you think we should tell him?” Beth stage whispers to Jerry.

“Beth, don’t you think we should respect Morty’s privacy?”

Rick tunes out the conversation, not interested in their usual bickering, and instead makes for the fridge. He roots around inside, grabbing a drink, then reaches for the cupboard door. Beth breaks the argument to turn to him. 

“Oh, Dad, dinner’s almost ready. Don’t spoil your appetite.” her tone changes seamlessly from angry to bright as she shifts her attention from Jerry to Rick. Rick drops his hand from the pack of wafers he was reaching for and sits down at the table, sprawling out in his chair as he waits.

“Morty, Summer, dinner!” Beth shouts to the kids and begins plating food. One bedroom door swings open and Summer comes down to join them, scrolling idly on her phone. 

Beth turns around to see only one of her children present and sighs. “Summer, get Morty.”

“Morty!” Summer shouts, not looking up from her phone. Rick has to give it to her, the volume is deafening. There’s no way Morty could have missed it.

“Ugh, that’s not what I meant.” Beth pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. “You know what, fuck it, if he doesn’t want to eat, that’s his problem.”

Four-fifths of the Smith family eat in relative silence, Rick taking advantage of the quiet to try to figure out what’s going on. Morty still hasn’t appeared by the time they’ve finished.

“Do you think I should go check on him? Take some dinner up to his room?” Jerry suggests.

“What? Jerry, no, it’s just a tantrum. He’s at that age. If he’s old enough to be a moody teenager, he’s old enough to heat up his own food when he misses dinner.” Beth replies dismissively.

“I’ll go.” Rick offers, trying to sound bored. Beth seems surprised, but doesn’t question her father. Rick takes the untouched plate of food and heads upstairs to Morty’s room. 

“Morty?” he calls, knocking on the door. No response. 

“Morty?” he calls again, slightly louder, continuing to drum his knuckles. Still getting no response, he barges his way in.

The room is dark except for the light Rick is letting in from the hallway. Morty is curled up on his bed, facing the wall and clutching a pillow to his chest.

“Morty?” he allows his voice to soften slightly.

“Go away, Rick.” Morty’s voice, already quiet and strained, is muffled from speaking into the pillow.

Rick sits gently on the edge of Morty’s bed.

“Look, wh-whatever this is, I’m gonna find out eventually, so you might as well just tell me now and get it over with.”

Morty turns to face Rick, seeming surprised. His eyes are red and swollen, and Rick feels a pang of hurt at the idea that Morty is this upset at the idea of Rick finding out… whatever it is he’s hiding.

“M-Mom and Dad didn’t tell you?” he asks hopefully.

“Nope. I just came here to give you this since, y’know, you didn’t bother to come down for dinner.” he keeps his gruff facade in place as he holds out the plate of food.

Morty sits up and takes the plate from him, setting it on his lap but making no move to eat it. He hesitates in the way Rick has come to know means he’s building himself up to ask something. Rick reels in an impatient urge to demand that Morty just spit it out.

“R-Rick?” Morty stammers. “You, um, w-would it be OK if… there was something wrong with me?”

Rick snorts to hide the concern he’s feeling. “Buddy, there’s already plenty of stuff wrong with you. Wh-wh-what’s one more thing?”

Morty winces at this comment, and Rick knows he’s fucked it up. “Yeah, but what if it was something… something actually wrong with me? Like, medically.”

OK, now Rick’s really confused. What is medically wrong with Morty that could be picked up by a school teacher?

“Morty, I can take you to any number of super advanced alien hospitals. Hell, I could probably fix it myself, if you just tell me what it is.”

Morty withdraws into himself even more. “I, um, I don’t think it’s something that can be fixed.”

“For cry-for God’s sake, Morty, what is it?” Rick demands. Morty refuses to answer, refuses to even look at him. Rick waits for as long as his patience can take, but Morty doesn’t yield. Feeling frustrated and defeated, Rick gets up and leaves to find an answer elsewhere.

He hears the rest of the family in the kitchen, and decides to ask them, when he’s distracted by an envelope on the couch with the distinct look of a letter from school. He reaches inside and pulls out Morty’s report card, scanning past the grades, which don’t interest him at the best of times, let alone now. He’s about to give up when he notices another sheet of paper inside the envelope. Unfolding it, he reads,

‘We recommend Morty for ASD assessment. If you wish to proceed or learn more, please contact-’ 

Rick stops reading. ASD? Autism? That’s it? The kid was acting like he had terminal cancer or something. Besides, Rick could’ve told Morty he was autistic within minutes of meeting him.

However, his indignation fades as stronger emotions take its place. He remembers the way he was treated as a child, the way adults talked about him like he couldn’t hear them, like there was something wrong with him. Like he was evil, or stupid, or something to be pitied. He remembers the way other children reacted to him, able to tell that he was different even at their young age. He remembers conversations between his parents late at night when they thought he was asleep, not quite hushed enough to avoid him overhearing. 

Rick swallows hard and pushes the memories away. Instead, a sinking feeling sets in as he realises that not only is Morty now experiencing these exact same thoughts and emotions, but that Morty thinks Rick will treat him like this. The feeling is some sort of sickening mix of shame and anger that curdles uncomfortably in his stomach. 

Rick turns to go back upstairs and speak to Morty, only to be met with Jerry.

“Did you read it?” Jerry asks.

“N-not now, Jerry.” Rick tries to brush past him, but Jerry catches his wrist to stop him. 

“Rick, wait.” 

Rick yanks his arm out of Jerry’s grasp, fighting the urge to rub away the residual feeling of touch. 

“You know I don’t like you taking Morty out on these adventures. If I had my way, you wouldn’t see him at all. But whatever you do, don’t you dare start treating him differently because of this, got it?” 

Jerry’s tone is surprisingly defensive in a way Rick never expected from the man. Sure, his voice is shaky and he’s clearly on edge, but he’s actually standing up for Morty. Still, Rick resents the implication that he’s the same as the people who made his own childhood hell.

“Jesus, Jerry, wh-wh-what do you think I am, some sort of monster? Why do you think I don’t like Morty going to that school in the first place? Why do you think I dropped out? It’s not a place for smart people, Jerry!” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Rick knows he’s given too much away. Just the reminder of his own childhood has regressed him into a weak little kid who can’t hide his feelings. Thankfully, Jerry’s too shocked to respond, so Rick takes the opportunity to slip past him and make his way up to Morty’s room.

He doesn’t bother to knock this time, barging right in. Morty is lying on his front with his face buried in his pillow, his body shaking, the plate of food untouched on his desk. Rick sits on the bed again and rests a hand gently between Morty’s shoulders, feeling the boy trembling.

“Morty, it’s OK. I know.” he forces the words out, his voice toneless. Morty turns and lifts his head, looking at Rick through fearful, teary eyes. Rick takes a breath before continuing.

“It’s OK, Morty. M-m-me too.”

“You’re…?”

“Autistic, yeah.”

Morty sits up and throws himself at Rick with such speed and force it takes Rick a second to understand what’s happening. Morty clings to Rick, sobbing into his chest. Rick hesitates before wrapping his arms around the boy, one hand gently stroking his shoulder.

“Sh, Morty, it’s OK.”

Rick remembers his own past and squeezes Morty tighter. When Beth was born, he’d worried about her experiencing what he’d had to, sworn that he would shield her from judgement if she had been like him, but… well, she’d never made it that far. Now, with his grandson shaking in his arms, he feels those protective feelings bubble up all over again.

Gradually, he hears and feels Morty start to calm down and eventually, Morty pulls back, wiping his eyes.

“So is it… OK? That I might be autistic?”

“Kiddo, there’s no ‘might’ about it.” Rick feels Morty tense and quickly scrambles to make him feel better. “I-i-it’s fine, Morty! It’s not something bad. It’s just another variable of humanity, like… like the shape of your nose. You got my nose, dontcha?” 

Morty nods, but doesn’t look convinced. “But… I’m not smart like you.”

“Morty, nobody is smart like me, I’m a genius. Everyone else is dumb to me, even all these other so-called ‘smart people’.”

“So… you’re not smart because of autism? I thought autism made you either like a super-genius or dumb.”

“What? No, Morty, you’ve been watching too much bad TV. A-anyway, you’re focusing on the wrong thing here. Autism is just… your brain works differently to other people. Sometimes it makes you smart, sometimes it doesn’t.” 

Morty is quiet for a second, mulling this over. “My teacher said that’s why I’m struggling in school. You never struggled in school.”

Rick feels a reflexive burst of anger at that assumption, but tries to fight it back. 

“Morty, I struggled in school so much I dropped out. I struggled so much I ran away from home.” 

Again, the truth spills out more than he wants it to, the emotion eroding his filter. Morty looks at him in shock.

“What?”

“N-n-not that I’m saying you should do that, Morty. Y-y-you need to stay here so you can go on adventures with me.”

“What? No, Rick, that’s not what I mean. I-I don’t get it. You’re a genius, how did you struggle?”

Rick shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. 

“I didn’t like the way they treated me, like I was an annoyance, or a pity project, or a problem. They didn’t get me, I didn’t get them. They wanted me to do things the way they wanted, when they wanted. I didn’t like that. If they thought I was too smart to be struggling, they didn’t believe me, thought I was just being difficult. If they just saw me as a problem, they didn’t believe I was smart enough to do things myself or make my own decisions. I-I had to constantly act, just so they’d believe I was competent. It’s tiring, pretending to be someone you’re not all day, everyday, just to be treated like anyone else. I got tired of it, left so I could be with people who didn’t care what I did.”

Somewhere in his story, Rick realises his hands have curled into balls and his leg is bouncing. He pulls out his flask and swigs from it, partially for the enticing numbness promised by the alcohol, but mostly to give himself time to rein in his emotions before continuing.

“Out there in space, Morty, they don’t care. They don’t even know what a human is, let alone how humans should act. I-i-if an alien thinks you’re weird because you breathe oxygen and have hair, they don’t give a shit if you flap your hands o-or don’t know when it’s your turn to speak o-o-or whatever.”

“So I can only be normal to people who already think my species is weird enough that they have no idea what I’m supposed to behave like?” Morty responds despondently.

“No, Morty, I’m saying it doesn’t matter. You can do whatever you want, be whoever you want.”  

Morty doesn’t respond to that, and Rick remains silent. Eventually, Morty speaks up.

“I-I always knew I was different, y’know? I could never make friends or-or understand things as easy as other kids could. But hearing my teacher talk about me like there was something wrong with me… it made it real.”

Morty’s words choke themselves into silence as he ends the sentence. Rick can’t reply, emotions hijacking his brain. He pulls Morty back into a hug instead. After a moment, Morty continues, his voice quiet and muffled against Rick’s shoulder.

“A-and I know I’m not smart like you, or Mom, or Summer, and I thought that if you knew there was something wrong with me… you might not take me on adventures anymore. Or you might get a new Morty instead. One that’s not… broken.”

“Hey, stop that.” Rick scolds Morty, shaking him gently. “You’re not broken, OK? Neither of us are.” 

“Y-you mean it, Rick?”

“Course I do, buddy.”

Morty nestles into him even closer and Rick feels his grip tighten without meaning to.

“Thank you.” he hears Morty mumble, so quietly he almost can’t hear it.

After a while, Morty loosens his grip and Rick responds in kind. Morty pulls back to wipe at his eyes before his stomach growls loudly.

“Oh. I guess I should eat, huh?” he chuckles sheepishly.

Both of their gazes turn simultaneously to the plate of food on Morty’s desk. Rick has to admit, it wasn’t the best even when it was fresh, but after sitting out for a while it looks outright unappetising.

“You wanna go to that place we found on Epsilon 12?” he finds himself offering.

“Really?” Morty asks, finally seeming to perk up.

“Sure thing, buddy.”

Rick rests a hand on Morty’s shoulder as he shoots a portal and guides his grandson through it. It might be too late to shield Morty from discrimination completely, but he resolves to try his best anyway.

[im-the-punk-who]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Michael Guerin, Isabel Evans | Isobel Evans, Max Evans Additional Tags: holiday fic, Sibling Bonding, Michael Guerin Vs Emotions, Lost Decade, Past Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, as in its a lost decade fic are they together? are they broken up? Who knows tbh Summary:

The Evanses invite Michael to spend Christmas Eve with them, but Michael struggles to feel at peace in a place he's sure he doesn't fit, or deserve. And it gets him thinking.

For the wonderful @bydayornight who was my @rnm-secret-santa recipient!

[pleasantfanartist]

Alex returns from his final tour in a flag-draped pine box. Michael is willing to do whatever it takes to get him out of it. But they end up raising a lot more in that cemetery than they bargained for.

From the fic Two Ravens by @sabrinachill

[torickment]

Cold Tension: Prologue

R&M Fanfic / Rick x Reader

You stretch your arms as your vision fades clearer. You look beside yourself, Summer still wrapped in the soft pink blanket she kept on her bed. You walk into the bathroom and rubs your eyes. Eyeliner still smudged on your bottom lashline. As you washed your hands and left the bathroom you realized how quiet it was. That was odd for this house. The cold gave you goosebumps causing your nipples to show lightly through your grey tank top. It hugged your waist nicely showing off your figure. Your black bikini panties peaked below your shirt, only barely noticeable. ‘There’s no one out there right?’ you thought peeking around the wall checking to see if anyone was there. You semi-confidently tip toed to the kitchen and turned on the faucet before realizing the cup you were using was back in the living room. You moved slowly before picking it up and inspecting it. “Boob World” was written on the front of it with ugly cartoon tits as the “O”s. Your head falls into your chest and you lets out a soft chuckle and a joking sigh of disappointment as you shake your head. Walking into the kitchen you stare at the cup until you look back up, meeting Rick’s eyes in the kitchen. You stop, almost immediately in your place for what feels like years. He didn’t even glance at you. After your initial shock you quickly went back to focusing on yourself, trying to avoid his presence. He was brewing some coffee, which you thought was odd. He must stay up late often. His under eyes were purple, and he seemed irritated enough although you hadn’t even yet said a word to him. You open the cabinet with the tea bags. You and Summer had been best friends for a while now. You met all of the Smiths pretty extensively, but Rick is a rare sighting. You try reaching to the top of the shelf, holding the chamomile tea. Your arm straightens and your heels come off the floor. The hem of your tank top rides up to show your midriff. Rick watched all of this, half annoyed by you and the other half, trying to think of something else. After 10 or so seconds of struggling Rick turns around, hovering over your shoulder as he lifts his hand to the shelf and back down to you. You take it from him with a weak “Thank you.” He ignores you and continues doing his business. You grab a spoon before leaving the kitchen, the small clinks of the metal on ceramic echo through the hallway. The embarrassment sent a chill down your spine. You were only in a tank top and underwear. ‘He must think I’m a fucking weirdo’ you thought. You finally slip quietly back into bed before falling asleep again. This time to the touch of his breath against the back of your neck. His shadow engulfed yours and he towered over you. For a moment your nose almost met with his light blue shirt as you looked over your shoulder. He had never been that close to you before.

[bekkachaos]

How about #18 and platonic Kylex for the prompts? ❤️

18. “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

Alex and Kyle had come a long way since high school. For a while Alex wanted to hold a grudge, hated the person Kyle had become when he realised that popularity was an option for him.

And he did hold onto that, for a while, at least until Jim Valenti died. At that point Alex had one of those moments where he realised that the world was bigger than his teenage anger, and people were more than who they thought they needed to be in high school.

The first few times they started to interact again after Alex got back from his last tour he definitely felt that decade-old bitterness rising in his throat, and it took a while before he was ready to part with it. Well, a while and a few alien mishaps.

But spending time together again, Alex had started to remember why they got along so well as kids outside the forced proximity. Now, they spent time together a couple of times a week, either with their alien counterparts or without.

On this particular day though, Kyle and Alex had set up their meeting weeks earlier, because it wasn't just a casual catch up. Alex was using his tech skills to help Kyle set up the perfect proposal, and Michael had been enlisted to keep Isobel away until everything was ready.

"Give me a few broken bones, some corroded arteries even, I can fix up a human body no problem but wires and metal and... programming, no thank you," he said as he watched Alex hook his hard drive into the computer at the drive in. They (Alex) had hooked up some old monitors around the lot, then connected to the main projector. When the sun was setting he would get all of Kyle's carefully curated film segments together to play in the right sequence, and on the right monitors. At least he would when the systems started talking to each other like they were supposed to. "Seriously, thank you Alex. You don't have to do this if you don't want to, I can just find a less technological way of doing this."

Alex snorted out a laugh, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had," he grinned. "Of course I’m in.”

It was Kyle's turn to snort derisively, folding his arms over his chest as he looked down at Alex who had gone back to tinkering with the connection ports.

"I'm sorry this is the stupidest? This? Not the time we were kids and I thought it would be smart to have you lock me in that rusty old fridge in summer? Or when I thought hey, you know what would be a good idea? Open heart surgery, on an alien?"

Alex raised an eyebrow because clearly, the pressure was getting to him. "To be fair, the heart surgery wasn't your plan. And it was a success."

"And the fridge?" Kyle said with a huff.

"I've seen sweatier men than that."

"Don't elaborate."

"I mean," Alex said with a grin. "Relying on Michael to keep a secret all the while spending the day with Isobel. I'll figure this bit out eventually, but he's the real wildcard here."

"He's kept bigger secrets, don't you think?" Kyle said.

"Yeah but this is a secret that will eventually be coming out, so there's really no motive for him to keep it. Hand me that hard drive would you?"

"What, you think Michael's going to ruin it?" Kyle said as he grabbed the hard drive from the backpack and handed it to Alex.

"No, I gave him a stern talking to."

"A stern talking to or I'll give you a spanking if you're a bad boy?"

"Hey, don't question the method if it gives you the results you want," Alex grinned. "And that would hardly be a deterrent."

Kyle rolled his eyes and ran his hands over his face.

"I'm just saying," he said. "Thanks, for helping."

"I'm your friend Kyle, that's what friends do when one of them wants to do an elaborate proposal," he said, looking up at him with a grin. "Especially when you're the tech-guy friend."

He turned back to the computer, finally opening up the sequencing program so he could stage the timing and hook up the visual to the right monitors.

Kyle thought about those words for a moment. His teeth dug into his bottom lip as he thought about what they meant, everything they had been through. How Alex had always upheld his end, and Kyle had let his end fall apart.

"Sorry I wasn't a better one," he said softly, and Alex turned back to him with a curious gaze.

"If you're talking about things that happened almost fifteen years ago-"

"I know I've probably said it before," he said, cutting Alex off. "But I don't really think there's a statute of limitations on treating someone like crap and then asking them to help you propose to your girlfriend."

Alex exhaled slowly, looking back at Kyle with kind eyes and waiting for him to say what he needed to.

"I just mean that I'm sorry for everything that happened between us. I guess the last couple of years especially have made me see it but I thought about it a lot after high school. I mean those friendships were just hollow and I didn't realise until I left. Thought about you a lot in those 10 years."

"I didn't really think about you," Alex said with a shrug.

"Fair, and I get that."

"I mean," Alex said with a fond shake of his head. "At least not until your dad. And I know how much it hurt me to hear about what happened to him. So all I could think was how much you must be hurting. Even thought about calling but changed my mind straight away because all I could remember was who you were when I left. And then I got back from a war and, I just didn't have the energy to hold that anger, you know? Suddenly seemed kind of stupid, to still be affected by something from high school."

Kyle made a humming sound as Alex made a satisfied sigh as he turned back to look at him.

"Is this you telling me I'm stupid?" Kyle said, eyes narrowed but a smile playing on his mouth.

"No," Alex shrugged, looking up at him with a grin. "But if that's what you took out of it I'm not going to correct you. I think I've got this all set by the way. You sure you're ready?"

"Hey, you make it look easy," Kyle said. "And you married Michael."

They chucked together, followed by a moment of quiet until Alex got to his feet.

"For the record," he said, reaching out to put a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "What I meant when I said this was a stupid plan was that you don't have to go all out on the proposal, intimate and simple works just as well."

"You think I should find a secret alien dimension and use the phrases 'I'm dying' and 'marry me' in the same sentence?" he said with a raised brow.

Alex rolled his eyes and lightly smacked his shoulder.

"Could probably meet in the middle somewhere."

Luckily, Alex had finished with perfect timing. He messaged Michael to bring Isobel down, and by the time the truck was pulling up the sun was shedding a soft orange and pink glow over the horizon.

Alex watched Kyle exhale heavily as he heard the doors closing and gave him a nudge with his elbow.

"Too late to back down now," he said, and Kyle turned to him with soft eyes.

"Thanks Alex," he said, nodding to him with that nervous excitement brewing inside him. "Really, I mean it."

Alex rolled his eyes again and reached out to pull Kyle into a hug. They had probably done it in the years since they reconnected, but it felt like the first time, the start of a friendship fully renewed, leaving the stubbornness of their past behind them.

They broke apart when Isobel's voice called out somewhere across the lot, Alex reaching over to start the sequence for Kyle.

"Go on," he said. "Really no turning back now."

Kyle grinned, one last tap to Alex's shoulder as he ran towards his place.

As Alex watched him disappear between the old pallets and the screen, Michael slowly crept up beside him.

"That was adorable," he teased.

"Shut up," Alex said, leaning into him as they found a vantage point to watch.

They'd all come such a long way since seventeen, and in a weird way, Alex wouldn't change a thing.

send me a pairing and a prompt from this list 💕

[notaracooniswear]

My #icantstopthinkingaboutricksanchez is not clickbait. All i Can Do IS thinking about this crusty boy ILoveHim aaaaah

Anyway i Drew him during my shift at work. Enjoy IG ?

[rnmnewyear2023]

Get your holiday jingles on and the confetti cannons ready!

RNM Countdown to New Year is in ONE WEEK!!!

🎆 🎉 🥳 ✨️ 👽 🎆 🎉 🥳 ✨️ 👽 🎆 🎉 🥳 ✨️👽 ✨️✨️

Thank you to @pleasantfanartist for the beautiful image!

[dayscrazed]

Chapters 9, 10 & 11 posted!!!!!

Before his father pressures him into enlisting in the Air Force, Alex and Michael fall in love...but Michael ends up pregnant. When Alex's gone, Jesse Manes finds out and the consequences are devastating.

Ten years later, could the very thing that broke their hearts be the thing that brings them back together? Alien secrets could mean a miracle and a happy ending.

Based off of the musical, "Bright Star," by Steve Martin and Edie Brickell. Every chapter is based off of a song from the musical. It's very Malex!

[salmonthestoryteller]

Sometimes Things End

Roswell New Mexico Fanfic

S04e04 Coda

Warnings for canon character death

Michelle Valenti x Mimi DeLuca

“I’m sorry, would you repeat that?”

“Mimi DeLuca died. Maria’s mother? She was close with Liz and Alex, too. So, they’re all going to have a rough time of it. Alex doesn’t even know yet, he’s away on assignment.” Kyle’s voice came over the phone, but for a moment it sounded distant. Even more distant than the actual physical distance between them. Like a voice lost in a fog. It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for a response.

“That… yes, of course.” Michelle found herself looking at the coffee she’d been about to pour - her hand was shaking. She set the pot back on the stand and leaned against the counter. “When is the funeral?”

“I’m not sure yet, why?”

“I thought maybe I might come by Roswell. Pay my respects.”

“I mean, that sounds nice, but… you don’t have to do that.” There was something odd in Kyle’s tone.

“There a reason you don’t want me visiting Roswell?”

“No! No, of course not. I just don’t want you to… interrupt whatever your plans are.”

“Uh-huh. Why do I feel like you're lying to me?” Michelle challenged, trying to think of a reason why he wouldn’t want her to come. “Does Eduardo Ramos got you mixed up with something dangerous?”

“No.”

“Where have I heard that before. I swear, that man…”

“Eduardo isn’t even here right now.”

“Hm���”

“It’s just that I didn’t think you and Mimi knew each other very well. If at all, if I’m honest.”

Michelle closed her eyes against the pain those words caused. “We… went to school together. We were close friends in those days.”

“I… didn’t know that.” Kyle sounded confused. “We never hung out with the DeLuca Family the way we did the Manes.”

“No, we… didn’t really spend much time together after I married your father.”

“Why?”

She hesitated a moment before replying. “I don’t know, really. It just happens sometimes. Friendships end.”

“Are you… lying to me?”

“It was a long time ago, Kyle. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Sorry, I just- that’s fine.” He sounded like he wanted to ask questions, but held back for her sake. She wondered if it was better that way. He’d already learned enough truths she’d rather he never had. “I’ll ask Maria for the dates.”

“Thank you.”

“I have to go. Talk to you soon.”

“I look forward to it. I love you, Kyle.”

“Love you, too.”

Hanging up the cellphone, Michelle slipped it into her pocket - her gaze settling on the empty coffee mug. She realized she hadn’t actually asked how Mimi had died. She wondered if it mattered half as much as the simple fact she was gone.

The room blurred as tears came, and she pressed a hand over her eyes as she fought against letting them fall. Old memories swirled. Memories of laughter, and whispered conversations long in the night. Of a small apartment decorated in Mimi’s eclectic style. Of kisses stolen in shadows, and the promise of a future that never happened.

It’s not a regret, exactly. She could never regret having Kyle. It’s an old wound, familiar and dulled by years. Made fresh by knowing she’s truly gone now.

After a moment she straightens -, eyes wet with unshed tears, but determined. She wipes her cheeks, ignoring any dampness she finds on them, and pours her cup of coffee. She’s been through this type of loss once already. She can manage it a second time.

Sometimes things end.

Author's Notes:

Me while writing I Remember It Well: Here is a safe little non-canon angsty w/w ship for me to have. Ex-lovers, 40 years later. Nothing canon should affect it.

Canon, Season 4: So we killed Mimi

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

Alien

Edit to the edit: Now with art from the wonderful @geetimesthree! Thank you so much for this! Please check out the rest of their art as well, it’s amazing!

Edit: copy and pasting from Google Docs fucks up the format so some lines were missing. Please excuse my shitty replacements lol.

This is a Birdrick fic I’ve been sitting on for a while because it got out of my control and I couldn’t figure out what direction I wanted to go with it. It’s set in the early Flesh Curtains days and draws a lot of inspiration from Becky Chambers’ Wayfarers series (which I would 100% recommend). It was originally intended to be a series of moments where Rick and Birdperson realise just how alien the other really is to them (with undertones of Birdrick) but it kind of mutated into something more. However, I’ve been so stuck with what do with it that I haven’t really touched it, so I’ve decided to post what I’ve got so far. There are inklings of a plot/potential future stuff developing but I can’t promise that anything more will come of it so this may end up being a oneshot. Anyway, let’s get on with it!

Summary: Birdperson looks close enough to human that Rick sometimes forgets he’s not only a member of another species, but one from an entirely different evolutionary timeline. Other times, however, the difference is undeniable. ~6.8k words

Warnings: ableism (both internalised and from others, including mentions of forced institutionalisation, mainly towards the end), both Rick and BP having derogatory inner thoughts, eating insects (why is this something that’s been a warning for multiple fics of mine lmao)

Birdperson looks close enough to human that Rick sometimes forgets he’s not only a member of another species, but one from an entirely different evolutionary timeline. Other times, however, the difference is undeniable.

One such time is when he offers to make Birdperson a coffee one morning shortly after the Flesh Curtains move in together.

“H-how do you take it? Milk, sugar?” he asks.

Birdperson looks at Rick in puzzlement. “Milk?” 

“Uh, yeah, you know. It comes from mammary glands?”

“Is that not what mammals feed to their young?”

Rick blinks. “Well, I mean, yeah, originally, but most people have it in their coffee or cereal or, or whatever, even adults.”

Birdperson considers this for a minute. “Might I ask how you acquired human milk so far away from Earth?”

“What? No, this isn’t human milk. I-I don’t have breastmilk in my coffee!”

“So it’s artificial?” Birdperson asks with an air of relief.

“No, it’s real! It’s from shloopy-shlops.”

Birdperson looks vaguely sickened. “You consume the milk of other species?”

“Uh, yeah. You didn’t think it was from a human, did you?”

“Are you not disturbed by this? It must be a big change from what you’re used to on Earth.”

“Nah, this stuff is pretty similar to cows’ milk.”

“Cows?”

“Yeah, they’re-they’re a big herbivorous mammal we have on Earth. We use ‘em for their meat and milk.”

“Even on Earth you eat the mammary fluids of other animals?” Birdperson’s expression of disgust deepens.

“Uh, yeah?”

Birdperson takes a moment to steady himself. “Forgive me. I do not mean to judge your species, but this concept is sickening to me.”

Rick grins. “Now you know how I feel about eating bugs.”

Birdperson smiles, very subtly, but Rick catches it. 

“So, no milk?” Rick asks.

For the first time since meeting Birdperson, Rick hears him actually laugh aloud. It’s more of a sharp exhale than anything else, but it sparks a giddy feeling in his chest all the same.

“No, I think I will go without it for now.”

———————————————————————

Rick sits at home, alone and bored. An hour or so earlier, Squanchy had retired to his room with explicit instructions not to disturb him for the next few hours and Birdperson had left to buy groceries. Birdperson had invited Rick along, but Rick had waved the offer off, not interested in braving the sensory overload of the markets on that particular day. However, he has since started to regret this choice, as Birdperson has been gone for some time, and Rick’s not making the mistake of interrupting Squanchy during his ‘me time’ again. As much as he hates to admit it, Rick struggles with being alone.

He gets up and paces restlessly over to the window. He tells himself he’s not going to sit and wait like a dog, but he can’t stop himself from looking outside anyway. 

Pathetic. he scolds himself. You couldn’t bear to be alone, that’s why you moved in here. You want to tell yourself you’re still out hunting, but really you just can’t cope on your own, can you? I hope they get sick of you and leave, and then you’ll have to get back to actually looking for your daughter’s killer. Have you forgotten about that, you piece of shit? 

His train of thought grinds to a halt as he catches sight of Birdperson approaching the apartment building, paper bags in his arms. Rick jumps at the opportunity to escape his thoughts and rushes out of the apartment and down the stairs.

He opens the front door to see Birdperson fumbling for his keys. The other man looks up in surprise.

“Hey, Pers.” Rick grins, leaning against the doorframe. “I saw you coming, thought you-you might want some help.” he holds his hands out and Birdperson passes him a bag. It’s heavier than he made it look and Rick struggles with it for a second. Birdperson raises an eyebrow - or rather, his equivalent of an eyebrow.

“Can you manage?” he asks.

“Yeah!” Rick insists, trying not to let on how heavy the bag actually is. His brain doesn’t help matters, distracting him with thoughts of how strong Birdperson must be and ideas of what else he could use that strength for.

“If you insist.” Birdperson replies in a tone that shows he’s not convinced. “Thank you.”

The two make their way back up to the apartment, Rick finding himself talking far too much about any inane topic he can think of. Thankfully, Birdperson doesn’t seem to mind.

“By the way, whatever you do, don’t go in Squanchy’s room until you’re sure it’s fine. Trust me.” Rick advises him. Birdperson nods seriously in response, knowing all too well what Rick means.

They tumble into the apartment and Rick dumps the bag on the kitchen table, spilling its contents everywhere. He spots a packet of cookies and tears it open, cramming one into his mouth. Among the groceries, he notices a container of bright-coloured red and orange fruit labelled with an unfamiliar script.

“Hey, Pers, what’re these?” he asks through a mouthful of food.

“It is a fruit from my homeworld. Cubba-sah.”

Rick attempts to repeat the word back to Birdperson, who nods at him and takes one.

“Would you like one? They’re sweet.” he offers.

“Lemme just check real quick.” 

Rick fishes around in a drawer and pulls out a device of his own making to check if the fruit is suitable for human consumption. While more widespread species enjoy the safety of relatively common knowledge when it comes to what alien foods they can and can’t eat, humans are not so lucky. After all, very few of them have ever made it off Earth, and fewer still have met aliens, much less tried their foods. As such, Rick has to take his own measures to work out what is and isn’t safe for him.

He scans the fruit and the screen lights up green with the message ‘No known toxins’. Shrugging, he takes a fruit and pops it into his mouth.

A second later, Rick is aware of nothing except burning. A stinging sensation starts in his tongue and rises throughout his face, setting his skin ablaze as it goes. The pain is vaguely familiar to his unconscious mind and he grabs at the fridge, chugging down milk in hopes of relieving the sensation. 

“Hot.” he gasps. His eyes and nose are streaming, blurring his vision. Through the tears, he can make out Birdperson’s form moving towards him.

“Rick, are you alright? Do you require assistance?” he asks urgently.

Rick shakes his head and takes another swig of the milk, wiping at his eyes.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just… Jesus, why didn’t you tell me it was spicy?”

Birdperson blinks. “I was not aware that you would perceive it as such. Are you entirely sure that you are not having an adverse reaction?”

Rick nods. “Yeah, because this makes it better.” he replies, raising the milk carton. “Fuck, it’s like eating my abuela’s cooking.”

Birdperson suddenly starts. “Ah.”

“What?”

“I… have just remembered something.” he seems uncharacteristically downtrodden. “On my home planet, there is a species of rodent we call sqoo rah lub. They are pests that invade supplies of grain and the like. To deter them, we use an extract of this fruit. It contains a compound that they find unpleasant, but that is harmless and undetectable to us. I believe the term for it in common is ‘capsaicin’.”

Rick chuckles. “Ah, that would explain it. So these,” he gestures to the fruit, “are basically peppers?”

“I am unfamiliar with this term.”

“Hang on.” Rick rummages through the cupboards until he finds a seasoning that’s roughly the alien equivalent of chilli powder. “Try this.”

He sprinkles some on Birdperson’s outstretched fingers. Birdperson raises them to his mouth and flicks out his tongue to lick the powder from them. Rick has to fight to keep his thoughts from wandering off into less appropriate areas. Birdperson smacks his lips.

“It is… very dry.”

“But not spicy? Or hot?”

“No, just a slightly sweet-tasting powder. You mean, to you, this causes pain?”

“Ah, pain’s a strong word. It’s kind of just like… a burn.”

Birdperson still does not look convinced.

“I have seen you use this on your own food before. Why do you own and consume something that causes a burning sensation for you?”

Rick shrugs. “It’s nice. Gives it a kick. A-and hey, like I said, I grew up on Abuela’s cooking, this is nothing in comparison.”

“I am afraid I still do not understand.”

“Oh man, if we ever visit Earth you totally have to try a ghost pepper.”

When Squanchy emerges from his solo session, Rick hounds him to try one of the cubba-sah. Squanchy sniffs it and instantly recoils with an expression that reminds Rick of a domestic cat.

“No way am I squanchin’ that! It smells like that stuff you put on your food!” he exclaims to Rick, backing away.

“I wonder if it is only mammals that experience this as spicy, or whether it is only my people who do not.” Birdperson ponders.

“See, you eating this I can understand because you don’t feel the burn, but him,” Squanchy points at Rick, “I just don’t get! How can you enjoy that pain?”

Rick grins. “It’s not painful, it’s just a nice kick.”

They continue to squabble playfully and, for the first time in a long time, Rick allows himself to relax into the happiness, rather than waiting for it to be snatched away.

———————————————————————

Living in what can only be described - in rather generous terms - as ‘a shithole’, Rick has long since become accustomed to pests. Slugs, some sort of small rodent, and, most recently, ants have all invaded their apartment and subsequently faded into just another part of the background noise. Therefore, it doesn’t come as a surprise to him to walk into the kitchen one morning to a colony of the insects on the floor.

What does catch him off guard, however, is the sight of Birdperson lying amongst them, wings spread out and lowered so that they’re touching the floor. Rick’s half-asleep brain takes a few moments to clock his bandmate at all, but once it does, it goes into overdrive, thinking his friend has passed out or worse. Before Rick can spiral too far, however, Birdperson tilts his head up to look at Rick.

“Good morning, Rick Sanchez.” he greets, using Rick’s full name in a way that never fails to make Rick melt a little inside.

“Uh… BP? What’re you doing?” Rick asks, his voice still rough with sleep.

“I am getting rid of parasites.” Birdperson responds simply, matter-of-fact as ever.

“…how?”

“It is a natural remedy used on my home planet. A compound produced by these ants helps to kill harmful microorganisms that reside in my feathers.”

“So this is… normal, in your culture?”

“In a sense, yes. Usually, I would use what my people call ‘kubba rub-oo’ - loosely translated, it would mean…” he trails off as he mentally translates the words “...‘feather-cleanse’ - but I have been unable to find anything suitable on this planet. The natural method is slightly old-fashioned, but effective.”

Rick stares blankly for a few seconds before accepting this information. “Cool. You want coffee?”

“Indeed.”

Rick brews coffee for the two of them, serving Birdperson’s with no milk - god knows they’d already been through that fiasco - and two sugars, just as he likes it. Birdperson remains on the floor as they drink their coffee in companionable silence. 

Rick averts his eyes and decides not to comment when he sees Birdperson begin to pick ants from his feathers and pop them into his mouth. In a best case scenario, this could be an effective pest-control solution, but he’d rather not think about it too much. He sets the half-empty coffee mug on the table, unable to stomach the rest.

Birdperson doesn’t see Rick for the next few days, but assumes that the scientist has simply got himself wrapped up in a project. Since the Flesh Curtains are still struggling to book gigs, Rick’s absence doesn’t have a negative impact on the band, and it’s not unusual for Rick to disappear for days at a time, so Birdperson decides not to worry unless the other man doesn’t return soon. 

That evening, Birdperson walks into his room to find a bottle of unidentified deep red liquid and a note on his bedside table. The handwriting is familiar to him from lyric writing sessions and blueprints scattered haphazardly around the apartment. He picks up the note and begins to read.

BP,

I looked some stuff up and the main ingredient of kubba rub-oo is formic acid, with some stabilisers and then scents added in. That’s what this is. I know you like grenaberry so that’s what the scent is. Hope it works.

-R

Birdperson sets down the note and smiles. He picks up the bottle and sees a spray lid, then tilts it to confirm the liquid’s water-like viscosity. Both of these match his expectations, and he trusts his friend’s abilities, so he extends a wing and cautiously gives it a single spritz. The smell is sweet, but with a distinct and familiar sour undercurrent. Satisfied, Birdperson sprays the rest of his wing, then the other, followed by his head-feathers. The liquid feels cool and pleasant on his feathers, and he lets it soak in for a few minutes before padding to the shower to rinse it off.

The steam amplifies the scents and Birdperson’s breath catches for a second as he’s hit with a pang of homesickness. At first, he’s confused at his own emotions - after all, the reason he left his home world in the first place was that he always felt like an outcast there - but quickly finds the feeling replaced with gratitude at Rick’s gesture. His friend has taken the time to listen to him, learn about his culture, and try to recreate part of it as a present for him.

Birdperson spends the rest of the shower bobbing between bittersweet memories and a newfound depth of affection for his bandmate. He flutters his wings to let the water flow through his feathers and wash away the oil. 

Once he switches the water off, he stands with his wings outstretched for a few minutes, letting them dry. While he might use a towel for the rest of his body, feathers are always better to air dry.

As he exits the shower, he catches a glimpse of his outline in the steamed-up mirror and freezes. Something isn’t quite right about his appearance, and he can’t work out what until he shifts his weight slightly and sees a flash of dark pink at the edge of the mirror. Turning to look at his wings in disbelief, he realises Rick’s attempt at kubba rub-oo has dyed them. He wipes the condensation from the mirror to inspect his reflection more closely and finds that his head-feathers have also been discoloured. Being darker, the grenaberry hasn’t quite managed to turn them the same deep pink as his wings, but the colour difference is definitely noticeable. He even thinks his skin might be slightly pinker than usual.

Birdperson wraps a towel around his waist and exits the bathroom in pursuit of the living room, where he can hear Squanchy laughing as Rick protests.

“Oh, man, Rick, didn’t anyone ever tell you ‘don’t squanch too much or it’ll turn your palms red’?” Squanchy guffaws. “What were you even doing?”

“Sh-shut up! It was an experiment!”

As Birdperson rounds the corner, both Rick and Squanchy’s gazes turn to him simultaneously. The three stare at each other in silence for a moment before Squanchy cracks up. He chokes out what Birdperson assumes to be some sort of joke at his expense, but his laughter is so strong it renders his speech unintelligible.

Birdperson looks at Rick, expecting him to also be cackling, only to find the man staring at him intently, his cheeks pink in a way Birdperson doesn’t think has anything to do with the kubba rub-oo. 

“Rick Sanchez?” he asks, and this seems to snap Rick out of his reverie.

“O-oh, hey, Pers.” Rick chuckles guiltily. “I see you found my… present.”

Birdperson nods. “Indeed.”

Rick raises his hands up as if in surrender, showing their red staining. “Sorry. I, uh, I guess I didn’t realise grenaberry would stain.”

“Rick Sanchez, you went out of your way to learn about and recreate something from my homeworld on my behalf. This was extremely kind of you.” he ignores Rick pretending to vomit at this and places a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Rick freezes and looks away, his cheeks once again pink. “I-it was nothing. I couldn’t let you roll around on the floor with the ants, could I? A-anyway, I fucked it up.”

“I am very grateful.”

Rick mumbles something inaudible in response, still not making eye contact.

The three sit in each other’s company for a while, Squanchy chiming in regularly with yet another joke until eventually all of them are laughing about it.

After a while, Birdperson realises he should probably get dressed and excuses himself to his room. As he walks away, he hears Squanchy make a final comment to Rick that he doesn’t understand.

“Dude, you’ve got it bad.”

As it turns out, the staining on Birdperson’s wings lasts for quite a while. So long, in fact, that the Flesh Curtains have somehow managed to get themselves a gig before it starts to show any sign of fading.

“Man, Pers, at this rate you’re gonna be like that on the stage.” Rick teases him a few days before the show, lightly hitting Birdperson’s arm with the back of his hand. Birdperson has noticed a marked increase in Rick’s physical affection towards him lately.

“Don’t worry, I hear some people find it really hot!” Squanchy bursts out and Rick scowls at him. Birdperson is mildly confused by the interaction but brushes it off as Squanchy teasing him.

“Perhaps we should match.” Birdperson suggests, only half-joking.

“What, you think I should dye my hair?” Rick asks.

“I think it would suit you.”

Birdperson reaches out and fingers a lock of Rick’s hair, attempting to return the physical affection. Rick’s face turns red, as he’s seen it do before. Although blushing is a behaviour that’s present in his own species, he doesn’t want to assume that it means the same thing in humans, or indeed that it’s the same phenomenon at all. However, he can tell that Rick is embarrassed by it, so he enjoys trying to fluster him. Birdperson wouldn’t want to genuinely upset Rick, but he takes pleasure in teasing his friends, just as they do to each other. This sort of behaviour is not present in his culture, at least not as a means of expressing affection, but Birdperson finds that he likes it. Even though his homesickness seems to be returning more and more often these days, he finds himself continuously discovering new things that make him decide leaving was worth it. 

Rick agrees to dye his hair surprisingly readily, although no amount of cajoling can convince Squanchy to colour even a small part of his fur, insisting that it’s the key to attracting partners. He pops an unidentified pill and situates himself on the sofa in front of some sort of porn while Rick and Birdperson retire to the bathroom.

Since his initial attempt at kubba rub-oo, Rick has made another sample, this time using a flower he claims to be remarkably similar to the vanilla orchid of Earth for scent instead. Although Birdperson has begun using this one, he has kept hold of the original as well, and he brings it out now in lieu of hair dye.

“Rick Sanchez, before we begin, are you certain that this is not harmful to your species?”

“Yeah, BP, it’s fine, trust me.”

Rick pulls his shirt off over his head and Birdperson finds himself regarding his friend’s bare chest with interest. He’s used to the hair on Rick’s head, since it’s similar to his own feathers, and used to the fur covering the whole of Squanchy’s body, but he always forgets that humans have hair on other parts of their bodies as well. Similarly, he finds nipples extremely intriguing - while he appears to have them, they’re actually little more than markings on his chest, some sort of evolutionary leftover, giving him an illusion of humanity. The idea of these markings being something more - something with a function, something that’s an erogenous zone - excites him in a way he’s not sure he wants to admit to, even to himself.

Rick leans his head forward over the sink and Birdperson sprays the liquid into his hair, admiring the way the deep red drops of liquid stand out against light blue strands.

“How long d’you think I should leave this in for?” Rick asks, his voice slightly reverberating as he speaks into the sink.

“I only left it for a few minutes. I am not sure if that will be sufficient for you or not.”

The floor of the shower is still stained red, and Birdperson wonders if they should’ve done this in there instead of giving the landlord something else to charge them for when they move out, but the sink is easier, and it’s too late to change their plans now.

After a few minutes, the two decide they’ve waited long enough and Birdperson switches on the tap, cupping his hands and pouring the water over Rick’s head to help him rinse the oil from his hair.

“Shampoo.” he hears Rick mumble from underneath his mass of wet hair, and passes the bottle into Rick’s outstretched hand. Mammals, he’s found, can generally all use the same sort of product to clean their hair, although when he tried it on a small area of his own feathers, it didn’t wash out properly, leaving clumps. 

Rick lathers his head and Birdperson waits for him to finish before helping him wash it out. They repeat the process until the water running from Rick’s hair is clear.

Rick straightens up and flicks his hair back out of his face, before shaking his head and getting water everywhere, including on Birdperson. He grins at Birdperson cheekily, and Birdperson can’t help but find it charming. He passes Rick the towel quickly, hoping that the human won’t see his smile. He’s found that, although most species seem to struggle to read his emotions, Rick is unnervingly good at it, which Birdperson finds relieving and irritating in equal measure.

Rick roughly towels his hair dry, then flicks it out of his eyes so he can look at it in the mirror. It’s turned out more purple than pink, with some darker reddish streaks in places, but Rick grins anyway and Birdperson feels warmth rise in his stomach.

“I was right.” Birdperson murmurs.

“About what?” Rick asks.

“It does suit you.”

Rick’s face reddens once again and he fumbles with the towel, bringing it back up to his face in order to dry his hair. Birdperson frowns.

“Forgive me, Rick Sanchez, have I made you uncomfortable? I did not intend to.”

Rick freezes with the towel in front of his face for a few seconds before slowly lowering it.

“No, Pers, i-it’s fine. D-don’t worry about it.” Rick doesn’t seem to be telling the truth, but Birdperson doesn’t want to pry and risk making things worse. He stretches a wing out and holds it next to Rick’s head to compare the shades.

“We match now.” he says simply, and Rick grins at him. Birdperson feels his body relax as most of the tension rushes out, although a lingering worry remains. He never fit in on his home planet, didn’t understand social norms or have any friends there. While befriending aliens gives him a fair amount of leeway when it comes to social mishaps, he still feels the familiar fear of rejection sitting uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. Rick and Squanchy are the closest friends he’s ever had, and while Squanchy is fairly straightforward and easygoing, he’s all too aware of Rick’s mercurial nature, as well as the suffering that comes with being his enemy.

Besides, Birdperson feels an unusual attachment to Rick, in a way that’s markedly different to his friendship with Squanchy. Part of him knows exactly what it is, but he’s not quite ready to put a name to the feeling. His culture regards naming as a form of cage and, while he might agree with Rick’s perspective on that particular idea for the most part, he’s all too aware of the tendency labelling things has to make them far too real. Names are powerful things, and giving one to this feeling will tie him down in a way that he’s not prepared to commit to yet.

On the morning of the gig, Birdperson walks into the kitchen and is hit by an overwhelming chemical smell. His first thought is that there’s some sort of gas leak, either in their building or nearby. When he sees Rick sitting calmly at the table, he tries to still his panicked thoughts. Rick turns around to face him with a grin.

“Hey Pers! What do you think?” Rick stretches out a hand for Birdperson to inspect. His claws - nails, Birdperson corrects himself - are black and shiny, and he can see a bottle containing a liquid of similar appearance on the table.

“What is this?” Birdperson asks.

“Nail polish. You-you never heard of it?”

“My species does not have nails.” 

Rick rolls his eyes in mock exasperation. “You don’t paint your claws? Or-or talons, or whatever?”

Birdperson shakes his head. “No. What is the purpose?”

“It’s like makeup. Or like dyeing your hair.” he gestures to his hair and Birdperson’s wings.

“A form of self-expression?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Birdperson sits at the table and picks up the bottle, inspecting it.

“You wanna do the other hand?” Rick holds out his left hand, and Birdperson sees that the nails there are still plain.

“I… do not know how.”

“It’s easy! Just grab the brush and smear some on.” Rick pulls the cap off to reveal a brush, then hands it to Birdperson and stretches his hand out again. Hesitantly, Birdperson takes Rick’s hand in his own. He’s not sure if this is acceptable and glances up at Rick’s face to check. The other man is blushing faintly, but looks expectant. Birdperson adjusts his grip so that he’s only holding one of Rick’s fingers and begins daubing nail polish onto the nail. He’s not sure how much is required, so he puts on one coat and then looks over at Rick’s other hand to see if the two are close enough.

“Is… this acceptable?” he asks.

“Yeah! It’s great!”

Birdperson feels reassured and paints the remaining nails, starting to relax into the simple domesticity of the moment and the exciting yet grounding feeling of touch. Once he’s done, he pulls back uncertainly.

“What now?” he asks.

“Now, we wait for it to dry.”

Birdperson gets up and washes his hands, just to be safe. After all, this is an unfamiliar substance, and he doesn’t want to take any unnecessary risks. Once they’re dry, he opens the fridge and pulls out a tub of grenaberries, holding them up to Rick and finding himself rewarded with a laugh.

As he sits down and begins eating, Rick leans back his head and opens his mouth. Birdperson stares for a second and then smirks.

“Are you a youngling?” he teases.

“Come on, Pers, I can’t eat when my nails are still wet. Feed me!”

“My people feed our young by regurgitating partially-digested food into their mouths. Is that what you wish for me to do?”

Rick kicks him playfully under the table. Birdperson takes a berry and holds it out just in front of Rick’s mouth in jest. Rick responds by leaning forwards and wrapping his lips around Birdperson’s fingers to eat the berry, pulling back with a shit-eating grin on his face as he chews. For once, Birdperson is the one who’s flustered. Now he understands how he must make Rick feel with his teasing.

“You are a cub rah bah, Rick Sanchez.” he admonishes. He’s fairly sure Rick doesn’t know what that means, but the other man cackles anyway, making Birdperson’s heart flutter in his chest.

Once again, Rick holds his mouth open expectantly and Birdperson feeds him another berry, then eats one himself. They continue in this manner for a while, until Birdperson is sure that the substance on Rick’s nails must have dried by now, but he finds himself putting another berry into Rick’s mouth regardless. 

The gig goes reasonably well - for them, anyway - and they’re in high spirits as they walk backstage. Squanchy almost immediately makes off in search of a woman he claims to have been ‘giving him the look’ for the duration of the show, leaving Rick and Birdperson alone together.

Rick begins his typical excited post-gig breakdown, listing their successes and complimenting Birdperson’s performance while his hands bounce in front of his chest and his fingers dance. Birdperson suspects that this might not be a behaviour that’s typical for humans based on the way he’s seen Rick react when he catches himself doing it, with the kind of shame that only comes from having an intrinsic part of yourself suppressed. Birdperson, always an outcast on his home planet, understands this feeling intensely, and so tries not to draw attention to Rick’s behaviour, even though he finds it adorable.  

“A-and, you know, we looked great while we were doing it!” Rick concludes in that half-joking, half-cocky way of his, indicating their dyed hair and feathers.

High on post-performance euphoria, Birdperson is filled with an uncharacteristic boldness and steps forward into Rick’s personal space, gently taking a lock of hair between his fingers.

“Yes, you did.”

Rick’s face turns redder than Birdperson has ever seen. Birdperson revels in the feeling of soft hair and their closeness to each other. He can see Rick staring at his lips and, without even meaning to, finds himself leaning in.

Apparently Rick feels the same way because the next minute they’re kissing, Rick’s lips surprisingly soft against his. Birdperson can taste the bitterness of the beer Rick had drunk before the show, smell the lingering hint of grenaberry on his hair.

When they pull back, both of them are breathing heavily. Birdperson is overwhelmed by a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Judging by Rick’s face, he appears to be experiencing a similar set of emotions.

“Rick.” Birdperson begins, but before he can put his thoughts into words, he’s interrupted by the sudden appearance of a stranger. 

They both jolt backwards from each other, caught in the act. Fortunately, the stranger doesn’t seem to notice. Xe’s a member of the predominant species on this planet, a scaly six-legged reptile, with a hard grey shell-like structure on xyr back, coming up to just below Birdperson’s waist.

“Hey, I’m Taub, best agent this side of Messier 31. I’ve got clients touring across all six major systems in this quadrant, and I think you guys showed some real promise tonight. If you sign with me, I’ll get you gigs all across the galaxy. So, how about it? You boys looking for an agent?”

Rick and Birdperson glance at each other conspiratorially, their kiss forgotten.

With Taub, the Flesh Curtains finally have a steady set of gigs for the first time in their existence. More than that, they have an actual tour. Taub has just sent across the list of locations and all three band members are sitting around the table, poring over it with interest.

“Oh, man, just listen to some of these places. Alpha-Betrium, Venzenulon-9, not to mention all of our home planets!” Rick exclaims. 

“You know, I wasn’t too sure about Taub at first, but xe’s really out-squanched xyrself with this.” Squanchy comments.

“And that’s not all! Check it out, boys!” Rick tears open a package to reveal black fabric. “T-shirts, motherfuckers!”

“Ooh yeah, gimme!” Squanchy reaches for it excitedly, checking out the illustration of the three of them on the front, then the list of tour locations on the back. 

While their drummer is preoccupied, Rick turns to Birdperson.

“Whaddya think, Pers. P-pretty cool, right?” he asks, and Birdperson can detect a hint of nervousness in his smile. Things have been slightly awkward between the two of them since their kiss, but they’ve been busy with the band now that things are moving forward, meaning that neither of them have brought it up. Birdperson wants to, but he keeps worrying that he’s reading too much into things or misinterpreting yet another cultural difference.

“Extremely cool.” he replies, placing his hand on Rick’s in what he hopes is a reassuring way. The other man blushes and pulls his hand back, and Birdperson is more confused than ever. He opens his mouth to apologise but Rick catches his eye and gives a subtle shake of his head.

“Don’t.” he mouths, his eyes flicking to Squanchy, who’s still distracted by the shirt, rubbing it against his face with an orgasmic expression. Birdperson doesn’t understand the situation, but the instructions are clear enough, so he drops it, not wanting to make things worse.

Rick paces up and down the floor of their rented tour ship, trying and failing to avoid thinking about a number of things. 

Firstly, things have been awkward between him and Birdperson ever since they kissed backstage, and while he knows he’s not helping matters, he can’t bring himself to say anything to Birdperson and risk having his heart broken or making things even more awkward, especially not while they’re on their way to their first gig of the tour, on his own home planet no less.

That brings him to the second issue. He hasn’t been back to Earth since before he met Birdperson and Squanchy, and he can’t deny the anxiety that sparks in the pit of his stomach at the thought of returning, despite knowing that their performance won’t bring them anywhere near his house. Rick’s hands alternately flap and curl into fists at his sides in response, and right there is his third issue.

He’s known his entire life that he’s not like most other people, and not just in the sense that he’s smarter than them. More specifically, he’s not like other humans, a fact that neither his parents nor his classmates had ever let him forget growing up. In response, he had used his incredible intellect and pattern-recognition skills to learn how to fit in around others. It had worked so well that he had adopted the mask almost full-time, only dropping it around a very select few people, all of whom are now dead. 

However, since most aliens have never met a human, let alone have any idea of how they’re supposed to behave, he’s fallen out of the habit of hiding his oddities lately. He’s had enough interspecies culture shock just with the other members of the Flesh Curtains, let alone aliens who are gobsmacked by behaviours such as blinking and laughing, that he’s long since decided to just do whatever the fuck he wants. However, it turns out that, like a too-tight shoe, once you take the mask off, it’s very hard to put back on. Although he’s not planning on spending too much time around other humans, he’s still nervous at the thought of being very openly weird in front of them. 

“Rick?” a voice from behind him breaks his spiral of anxiety and he snaps his hands guiltily to his sides as he turns to face Birdperson. Birdperson only recently seems to have realised he doesn’t need to use Rick’s full name every time, and Rick finds it almost unbearably intimate.

“Are you alright?” Birdperson asks.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine!” Rick knows instantly that Birdperson doesn’t believe him. While with anyone else he would double down on the lie, something about this man in particular manages to break through his defences. “Pers? C-can I… tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I, um… I’m not like other humans. There’s, there’s something… wrong with me. I don’t know what it is, but I could get by, especially once I left Earth and nobody knew if I was acting normal for a human or not, but you’re about to meet other humans for the first time and…” Rick trails off, not sure if he’s trying to hold back from admitting too much or building himself up to say it. Either way, the truth slips out. “I’m worried about what you’ll think of me once you realise how weird I am.”

Rick keeps his eyes fixed on the ground, fighting tears he wasn’t expecting. This is something he’s never told another person except Diane, and he wasn’t prepared for the emotions it’s stirring up.

“Rick.” Birdperson places a hand on his shoulder. “On my planet, I am also, as you might say, a weirdo. Until I met Squanchy, I had never had a friend. He told me there is a word for it in common, ‘autistic’.”

At first, Rick had found himself feeling relieved and connected to Birdperson, but hearing that final word makes something in him snap.

“I’m not fucking autistic.” he hears himself growl, his heart pounding in fear as he thinks of a cousin he had been told his whole life had died as a baby until one fateful argument with his dad had revealed that she had been sent away to an asylum for ‘the severely disturbed’, the place his dad had told Rick he should’ve been sent to. Rick feels a hot, sick rage bubbling up his throat, his body trembling with adrenaline.

“Rick.” Birdperson’s calm and concerned voice snaps him back to reality. 

“I’m not autistic.” Rick repeats, his voice shaking.

“Forgive me. I do not know what this means on Earth. I had not heard of this word until I left my planet. I merely wished to reassure you that I will not think you weird, no matter how different you are to other humans.”

A sob forces its way from Rick’s mouth, and he can’t believe he’s crying in front of Birdperson, but he can’t help himself. He feels Birdperson wrap his arms around him and clings to him tightly, sobbing against the other man’s bare chest. 

“It is OK, Rick. I am here. I will not leave.” Birdperson reassures him.

Rick fights to calm himself and steady his breathing. Eventually, he manages to stop crying, quickly wiping tears and snot from his face. He can’t bring himself to look at Birdperson.

“Come.” Birdperson instructs, gently but firmly, guiding Rick with an arm around his shoulders. Rick allows himself to be led to a bed, wrapping the blankets around his entire body like a cocoon. 

“Rick… I am sorry that I have upset you. It was not my intention.”

Rick sniffles and shakes his head. “I-it’s not your fault, Pers.” he mumbles. “It just… that word brought up some bad memories for me, that’s all.”

He feels Birdperson rest a hand on his arm and continues. “On Earth, people like me - like us - if people find out that’s what we are, they… they get sent away.”

“Sent away… from Earth?”

“No, just to another place on Earth. A… a bad place. If I hadn’t been smart, that’s where they would’ve sent me, too.”

“Are you in danger of this if we return to Earth?” Birdperson asks in concern.

Rick shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. They wouldn’t do that to me now. They couldn’t, even if they tried. But it happened to… to my cousin. I didn’t find out until I was older. My dad told me about it. He said it’s what should’ve happened to me.” 

Rick feels Birdperson squeeze his arm.

“My father was not supportive of me being different, either. I always felt as if I had to prove myself to him, but he was never happy with me, no matter what I did. I knew I was a source of shame to him.”

Rick lets out a humourless laugh and leans to rest his head against Birdperson’s shoulder. “Sounds like we both had shitty dads.”

“Indeed.” 

Birdperson wraps both an arm and a wing around Rick and rests his chin on Rick’s head. Even through his distress, Rick feels a rush of warmth in his abdomen at the gesture. 

“Do not worry, Rick. Even if anybody tried to harm you, I would not let them.”

Rick’s never felt so protected, and that’s the moment when he knows that his feelings for Birdperson are far beyond just a simple crush. He swears to himself that he won’t lose Birdperson, even if it means they’ll never be more than friends. Now, more so than ever, he resolves not to bring up the kiss in fear that it might jeopardise their relationship.

[im-the-punk-who]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes Characters: Michael Guerin, Alex Manes Additional Tags: Fluff, baby malex flashbacks, Songfic Summary:

Michael and Alex reminisce about the first time they met. No, before that one.

[alienidentities-f22a]

RNM Fanfictions

Max and Liz died in a horrible accident, leaving their single daughter an orphan. With no other choice, Michael and Alex stepped up to take care of the deeply traumatized and scarred 10-year-old.

Five years later, the precarious routine they've established is on the verge of collapsing, and secrets that should have stayed buried are at risk of surfacing.

The unexpected feeling of free falling was Michael’s only warning before his hip slammed into the ground followed by his instinctually thrown-out arm, the only thing keeping his head from being the next point of contact. But the impact barely registered and Michael crawled the remaining distance to Alex.

Kyle works to save Alex with the help of some old friends. A series finale fix-it where Alex isn’t magically okay after leaving the pocket dimension, featuring 50% more handwavy alien science.

[its-elioo]

Ratchet: How many times do I have to tell you?! We are NOT a kindergarten! You can't adopt every human you see!

Optimus: I'm sorry old friend. ><'

[jordenn420]

[starrbitez]

HELP I WAS LOOKING THRU MY NOTES FOR THE FIC… and i wrote “rick and evil Morty have (1) weakness and it Is Morty Prime”….. kinda genius moment tbh

[ricksanchezbignaturals]

the rnm hyperfixation struck me like 6 months ago give or take and recently i realized i use the word "jeez" like a lot and now i can't remember if i did that before the brainrot hit or not