b/c I really like getting reviews, I figured why not tap into a little bit of why the fuck not writing? Rick and Morty and Gravity Falls style! Reviews are super duper appreciated, and I would so love to just hear idk dumb headcanons and ideas and stuff. . . I don't own jack shit. wish i did.. stroories based kinda on dumb things in my life.
8:30 p.m.
His old bones sank deeper into the warmth of the bath, a warm pleasant grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. It was a rare occurrence that he was able to take pleasure in the little human things in life, as he had when he was young. Maybe it was the wine swimming well with flat vodka that made his vision blur and his insides fuzzy like the static of an old radio. Something about that gentle hum of the house's inner workings being revealed once he was quiet enough, only interrupted by his gentle breaths, he found himself drifting off in the steamy tub.. It brought him somewhere safe, somewhere familiar, somewhere he had been before...
8:30 p.m.
Her voluptuous curves were just barely clouded in bubbles, a murky off gray water mixed with lavender and hazel just barely masking her fair pinkish thighs. The tender baby skin of her inner thighs and wrists hidden beneath the hot bathwater. Breathing a deep solemn sigh, she raised a wet hand and flicked it; her sharp talons painted a brilliant burgundy, then reached for the glass of chardonnay that sat on the porcelain wall. He hadn't even finished his cigarette, and he watched her from his perch on the top of the toilet, clad only in black sweatpants. She closed her eyes, as though searching for some strength deep within herself to speak to him, and as she took one last gulp of alcohol she whispered, her voice barely above the tinkling of morning chimes.
"I think I'm pregnant, Rick."
He didn't react, but suddenly noticed that he hadn't taken out his earrings. He felt as though he shut down. The words didn't exactly register as he stood up, as though to say something of great importance, and all he could bumble out was a flustered "I love you." She was taken aback, looking over to him as though he had said the words for the first time. The bathroom was painfully silent, as though death had drawn his spear through both of their hearts.
"I said I think I'm pregnant." She repeated, turning to shield her face with her blonde hair, to hide the tears that began to well in her eyes. She reached for the empty wine glass, just to hold it for the comfort. She could not bear to see his face, which stretched bare on his gaunt pale skin as though his bones were ready to burst forth. His sick red-rimmed bruised eyes carrying bags more expensive than Gucci, and his crooked pointy little nose that she forgot as soon as she saw his toothy smile. Rick was never good with words, hell, he'd been taking an indian-dinner gone wrong shit an hour before she told him she was pregnant, she couldn't sink much lower.
"And I said I love you." He came towards her with stronger fervor, sitting on his knees by the tub, his wild spiky hair tousled and his gruff cigarette breath bringing the scent of smoke in her face. "I love you and I'm not going to leave you." She looked over at him, tears freely streaking her cheeks. Sniffling pathetically, she began to laugh at her own expense, trying to focus on Rick's features.
"Fuck if I love you too.." She mused quietly, "I can't tell if you're laughing or crying, hun, I don't have my glasses on." She said delicately, trying to make light of the situation.
Rick choked out, his face wet, "I'm laughing, babe, I'm always laughing. N-now, I'm going to go get the electric blanket and we're gonna eat a shit ton of ice cream. A pint each, babe!" He exclaimed, forcing a grin, both of them struggling to keep their egos aligned while they both bawled like children.
The night would be concluded by passing out in a tipsy haze to early MTV shows, curled up in each others arms under the blanket, their empty pints left out on the rug.
"Sanchez!" a rapid knocking came on the door, gruff Grunkle Stan's voice cutting through his dream like a dagger. "You better not have dissolved you prune," the old man grouched as he opened the bathroom door; with little courtesy thanks to Mabel and Dipper being up in their rooms already. It was a weekend at the Mystery Shack, he was happy to have reconnected with his old friend, but this could only happen when his brother Ford was out of town; Lord knows those two could not get along. He came in to see his old flame wrapping himself in a fluffy pink towel, draining the cold tub and shaking to his bones, his face was pulled in a wrinkly pout. "What did you do, goon, fall asleep? Oh! That's Mabel's towel, Mabel's not going to-"
"Nn-n-nobody cares Stan." Rick barked, furrowing his brow and massaging the bridge of his nose. "F-fuck.. It's c-cold as as tits in here." He practically snarled, ignoring the haughty scolding from Stan as he pushed past. It was quite a sight, Rick shaking in his pink towel treading water to their shared room, boxer-tank top Stan following in his half chewed slippers. He had barely toweled himself off before rudely casting aside Mabel's towel, standing stark nude in the cold bedroom; goosebumps running over every inch of his gray skin. Stan, unamused, merely watched as Rick walked over the clean clothes stacked on the floor and pulled on a tank top and boxers, and Stan's flannel over that. Then, like a spoiled child, took Ford's slippers and walked to the kitchen and drank Stan's beer. It wasn't very bothersome, since they could always fall asleep watching soap operas, and get as emotional as they so pleased because they could blame it on the liquor or the story being too intense.
Stan expected to see the old bastard come in at any time, he already flicked on a Lifetime original movie. However, he heard the shuffling of tiny feet, the popping of the popped corn, and giggles of naughty children. Confused, he looked to the door, the floorboards shook, and then the door burst open; Rick, Mabel, and Dipper and all of the junk food and drinks they could carry came marching in. Instead of anger, he grinned, "Hey it's past your bedtime!" Rick, with a child under each arm, hollered a response of 'who the belgium ww-w-waffuCK cares! RICK AND MABEL AND DIPPER AND STANLEY FOREVER AND EVER A HUNDRED LIFETIME MOOVIESS!" He finished the chant with a massive belch from the pit of his stomach, laughing as a kindred soul would, ignoring that forlorn lost self he had once been, and relishing in the immediate affections and attention of his temporary home.
I tried to keep name's out of the Mrs. Sanchez part, but I'd imagine her to be a cross between IceCry's Bonnie and a little more like the interpretations where Mrs. Sanchez looks more like Beth (I can't remember the user but hey). ALso, I am NOT pregnant lol I just am the 'bad grandpa' who gets the kids up to come watch movies with the adults before bed.