Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8180060.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage, Major_Character_Death
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      Gravity_Falls, Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Dipper_Pines/The_Author, Bill_Cipher/Dipper_Pines, Rick_Sanchez/Morty
      Smith, Bill_Cipher/Mabel_Pines, Stanford_Pines/Stanley_Pines, Rick
      Sanchez/Morty_Smith/Summer_Smith
  Character:
      Dipper_Pines, Mabel_Pines, Bill_Cipher, The_Author_|_Original_Stanford
      Pines, Evil_Morty_(Rick_and_Morty), Original_Character, Rick_Sanchez,
      Morty_Smith, Grunkle_Stan_|_Stanley_"Stanford"_Pines, Summer_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      challenge, Self-Harm, Trans_Male_Character, Dysphoria, Internalized
      Transphobia, Gore, Short_Chapters, Aged-Up_Character(s), Sexual_Fantasy,
      Caught_while_masturbating, Surgery, Demonic_Possession, Incest, Orgasm
      Denial, Sexual_Torture, Unrequited_Lust, Amputation, Human
      Experimentation, Kinky, Cannibalism, Ownership, Alternate_Universe, The
      Mindscape, Obsession, Demon_Summoning, Animal_Sacrifice, Established
      Relationship, Monster_Bill_Cipher, Slurs, Child_Abuse, Impalement,
      Sadistic_Shit, Cruel_and_unusual_punishment, Graphic_Description_of
      Corpses, Pedophilia, One-Sided_Attraction, Necrophilia, Body_Horror,
      Eating_Disorders, Angst, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con, unreality,
      Vomiting, Alternate_Ending, Daddy_Kink, Knifeplay
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-01 Completed: 2016-10-31 Chapters: 31/31 Words: 18326
****** Goretober ******
by analog_romeo
Summary
     Fic version of Junirat's October art challenge. Tags will be added as
     necessary.
  This work was inspired by
      Goretober_Challenge by Junirat [Tumblr]
***** Excessive Gashes/Lacerations *****
There comes a point where talking about your dysphoria gets repetitive. You’ve
posted about it so much online that you just seem whiny and desperate for
attention.
Mason Pines was at that point. It felt like even his twin sister was tired of
hearing about it.
Plus, there were certain things he couldn’t tell Mabel. Like the sexual side of
his dysphoria - that’s not something you can share with your sister.
The way he’d claw at his breasts because no gay man would ever love them, and
any straight girl who wanted him would just pity him. It made him gag just to
think about. People who are attracted to men are attracted to dick. No one
would ever genuinely want to fuck him or be fucked by him.
Dipper laughed at the thought as he dragged a blade along his inner thigh.
Tonight was the night he could finally self-indulge. It was three in the
morning and he was all alone in the bathroom, sprawled out naked with a small
selection of knives.
And no one would ever know.
He set the small, used blade aside and picked up a medium sized kitchen knife.
His breath haltered at the sight of the sleek, sharp tip. Eagerly he spread his
legs and tightened his grip on the handle.
Dipper held his knee with one hand and with the other lightly pressed the blade
of the knife to the low inside of his thigh. In one quick motion he put heavy
pressure on the dull end, and winced slightly at the rush of blood and rip of
pain. When he pulled back, though, he moaned.
He angled the bloody knife an inch above the gaping gash. He repeated this
several times until he was soaked with blood. His thighs weren’t the problem,
though.
The boy grabbed a different, smaller knife and held it against his crotch, just
above the fold. Without a second thought he sunk it into the skin until he
couldn’t push it anymore. He made short, quick cuts all the way down each lip,
letting the hairy skin pool with crimson. It burned but he didn’t care. His
vagina was disgusting and fucking deserved it.
Dipper next grabbed a knife the same size and with his other hand, squeezed the
fat at his bare stomach. Angrily he dug the blade into it, gagging at the
disgusting flab that sat at his waist. The way it shaped his body like the girl
he was.
He had no intention of cutting it off, just cutting repulsed, furious stripes
into it. Once he was finished with that, he grabbed one of the few knives that
hadn’t been doused in blood and climbed to his feet.
The boy felt like vomitting at the sight of himself. His uneven, misshapen
breasts. Ready to get it on with, he picked one up below the nipple and lifted
it up, pressing the sharp end of the knife to the fold where it met the skin.
In one movement he forced it through the skin and groaned. He made inhuman,
disgusted noises as he tore at his skin.
He lifted the blade just below his nipple and sheared violently, cutting both
horizontally and vertically, not caring how much blood fell to the tile floor.
He’d sop it up later.
Dipper messily exchanged hands, nicking himself carelessly in the effort and
gave the same treatment to his other breast before chucking the knife to the
ground. He gave his reflection a good hard look, satisfied with the ripped open
gashes plastered across his pale skin. This is what he deserved.
Bile rose in his throat. No one would ever call him Mason. He’d be stuck with
his humiliating nickname the rest of his life, as opposed to his birth name,
which was worse. Not even his sister, who he considered his best friend, would
attempt to adapt to it.
Mason looked long and hard at himself, his cuts starting to peel as the blood
ran down his nude figure. This is what his body deserved.
***** Extra Limbs/Eyes/Etc *****
It had been two years since the Pines family stopped the apocalypse.
Dipper Pines was nearly fifteen now.
At the age of thirteen Dipper realized his obsession with Bill Cipher. He’d
unknowingly started to go through a similar infatuation to the Author -
choosing triangle-themed decor for his room, now separate from his sister’s;
unthinkingly drawing eyeballs whenever he had a pen in his hand.
It went a step farther when he started to have dreams with Bill’s figure in
them.
Some dreams he would be in the room he and Mabel shared in Oregon, almost
everything diluted except the moonlight shining from the window--triangle
shaped with a circular outline in the middle. It still hadn’t dawned on him
what he was seeing.
Weeks later these dreams became more provocative. At first it was just like
before, but this time instead of sitting still and cross-legged, he was nude
and sprawled on the floor. He had his hand tucked between his legs, lightly
rubbing over his clit as his naked, sweaty skin gleamed in the faint light.
He thought nothing of these dreams. It was normal for a thirteen year old boy
to have sex dreams.
Dipper started to grow concerned when these dreams were accompanied by
whispered. This time the dream came in fragments, the sounds of him gasping and
short glimpses of his fingers working away. Nothing could outshine the growing
need to cum, but he couldn’t. He hung on the edge to the sound of familiar
whispers, not being able to make any words out.
If anything, it sounded like a mix of words in reverse. But he knew who that
voice belonged to.
The next morning he went to Mabel, the only person in Piedmont who would
understand.
“I’m worried, Mabel. But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone, especially
not Stan or great uncle Ford.”
“I promise, just tell me,”
Dipper sighed. “I don’t want to go in detail, but I think I’m having dreams
about Bill again.”
“Where you see him?”
“No, I just hear him.”
“What is he saying?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem.”
She knitted her eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”
“It’s like, not coherent. It sounds like it’s backwards.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “I don’t know how to help, but tell me if it gets worse. If
it gets really bad, Dipper, I have to tell someone. Grunkle Ford might be the
only person who knows how to help.”
“I know,” he groaned. “I’ll let you know if it gets worse. Just keep it under
wraps for right now, okay?”
Dipper’s sister smiled and held out her pinky. “I promise.”
===============================================================================
The next time Dipper had a dream with Bill in it, he could almost see him. This
time, he could see Bill’s shadow on the wall, as he floated freely and twirled
his cane.
The soft sound of his voice was still garbled, and more than anything else,
Dipper needed to cum. His hands were near shaking as he wrecked his aching
pussy.
Finally, Dipper could make something out. “That’s it, Pine Tree.”
Dipper woke up gasping for air, still being cut short of orgasm.
===============================================================================
He was obsessed. Infatuated was an understatement.
Every time Dipper got a chance to touch himself he’d imagine Bill’s voice
saying dirty things. Oh god, this was wrong.
For starters, this was a chaos demon who tried to destroy him. His entire
family. His entire town. The entire world.
Bill had barely spoken to the boy, and when he did, aside from one time where
he manipulated him, it was a threat.
It felt wrong, so fucking wrong, but that voice rang in his ears and made his
clit hard. The idea of this entity having power over him, manipulating him to
do whatever his heart so desired.
It was maddening.
But not once did these thoughts make him stop indulging. He would sneak into
the bathroom late at night and lock himself in there, fingering over his clit
to the imaginary sound of ”Yes, that’s it Pine Tree, cum for me baby, that’s a
good boy.”
===============================================================================
Dipper was almost fifteen now.
These dreams had become much less frequent, but his lust was just as powerful.
Recently he had the fleeting glimpse of memories he tried to repress as he
raked his brain for more visuals of Bill. That one time he tried to kill him
and Mabel.
Instead of panic setting in at the memory, he remembered the demon’s sharp,
jagged teeth and multiple tongues. The several monstrous arms.
His breath quickened and his heart started to race. All the heat in his body
pooled between his legs and his mind wouldn’t stop. Suddenly an image painted
in his head of all those arms all over him. One to hold down each of his arms
and legs as he thrashed, another to cover his mouth and pry it open. One to
tear all his clothes off as Bill’s voice echoed brash across the room.
Dipper was sitting in a living room chair. His parents were at work and Mabel
was out with friends; she’d be home any minute now. But the space between his
legs was getting damp. He quickly shoved a hand down the front of his pants.
He pressed the pads of his fingers on top of his clit and raced them up and
down. The boy imagined one of those arms gripping over his crotch and a giant
finger thrusting into his cunt. He breathed heavily as he sank into himself.
Any minute now someone could walk in and that just added to the excitement. He
pretended Bill was there, taunting him, calling him disgusting.
He imagined multiple tongues grazing over his body and Bill hungrily took him
into himself. Dipper moaned out loud; everything was too much.
The boy was too far into his headspace. Bill was all over him.
“Yes-- yes-- Bill-- fuck--”
In the driveway he could hear Mabel walking up the steps. He couldn’t stop now,
he was too far gone. But that means Mabel will see me. He didn’t care.
He lifted his hips up to meet the time of Bill’s imaginary thrusts, the feeling
of Dipper’s own fingers just enough to push him over the edge.
Keys jangled as the doorknob unlocked and turned. “Nnh, ugh,”
The door opened wide and Mabel ran in just in time to see her brother in a not
too flattering position, sweat-drenched and wanton.
“Oh, Bill,”
He swallowed hard and shuddered, his orgasm sending shockwaves all over his
body.
Mabel was quick to react, making a long, drawn-out sound of disgust. “Oh,
Dipper, I’m so sorry,” she sputtered, fake-gagging and walking into the
kitchen.
Dipper fell back onto the couch, without a care in the world.
***** Surgery *****
From his backpack in the corner of the room, Dipper could hear his walkie-
talkie signalling in. Staticy transmission, and then Ford’s voice.
“Hey Dipper, I need you downstairs.”
Dipper immediately dropped what he was doing and eagerly ran out of his room.
He loved helping his great uncle Ford whenever he needed him.
“What is it, great uncle Ford?” he asked as he was coming down the stairs to
the basement.
He didn’t get an immediate response. When he went into the Author’s lab, he
found Ford had a very expressionless look on his face.
“Ah, there you are. Hurry up now, we haven’t much time time to waste.”
“Wh-what? What are we doing, Grunkle Ford?”
His demeanor didn’t change. “Just some experiments, nothing big. Now, Dipper,
if you could undress for me.”
Dipper’s face when ghost white and his eyes widened in a panic. “What? Why?” He
started to sweat hard.
“Standard procedure for surgery.”
“Su-- surgery?!”
“Yes, Dipper. There’ll be anesthetics, of course. Now relax, boy.”
The sound of the Author’s voice relaxed him immensely, but the situation still
made him anxious. For some reason, the thought of undressing in front of Ford
scared him more than the thought of being operated on.
“Uh, o-okay.” He cleared his throat before starting to pull his shirt over his
head. “How much do you want me to take off?” he awkwardly stammered.
“Just down to your underwear,” he replied, calm as ever.
Dipper wondered how he was able to stay so unfazed. Shaking now, he kicked his
shoes off and tried to undo his shorts with his fidgeting fingers. Oh god, he
thought, the Author’s gonna see me naked. His heart raced and he felt
lightheaded.
At last the thirteen-year-old was able to drop his pants, which pooled at his
ankles. His face burned red and his pubescent erection stood tall. He covered
himself, but not before Ford got a look at the tent in his underwear. Dipper
blushed furiously.
He didn’t see the hidden smirk when the man turned to put on rubber gloves.
Ford pulled out a surgical table and tapped on it, as if to motion for Dipper
to sit down. He did as directed, trying to calm himself. His hands stayed
crossed over his crotch.
After waiting a few minutes, Ford placed a mask over the boy’s face, applying
the anesthesia. He pulled open a drawer and grabbed some tools, setting them on
a table beside the cot. The Author cracked his knuckles, then reached over
Dipper.
He was too sleepy to ask what Ford was doing, but came to realize he was
fastening the boy’s limbs in place. Dipper faintly began to panic, but he was
being lulled to sleep.
Carefully, the man picked out a scalpel and pressed the tip ever so lightly
against the skin of the boy’s torso. He made a long, horizontal incision, then
wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his glove.
Then he laughed.
Dipper swallowed hard, much too atent for someone being numbed and put under.
“Great Uncle Ford?”
The man laughed, much harder this time. He carelessly smeared blood on his face
with the glove. Cackling madly, he tore his glasses off, revealing piercing
yellow eyes.
Dipper’s mouth dropped open instantly. He wanted to scream, but he was
voiceless from shock.
“I got ya now, kid,”
That was still Ford’s voice, but it definitely wasn’t Ford.
“What did you do to my uncle?!”
“He’s fine, Pine Tree,” Bill assured, his smirk audible from his tone.
“What did you do to him?” he asked, firmly.
“I promise I didn’t hurt Fordsy. I can’t say the same about you, though,” he
snickered.
Dipper started flailing in his restraints. “Let me--go!” The belt tight around
his wrists and ankles burned against his skin.
“Oh, not today, Dip.” He inched in closer to the young teen, the bloody scalpel
just centimeters away from his face. “Don’t think I don’t see what’s going on,”
he whispered.
“What?” Dipper yelped, still panic-stricken.
“Don’t play dumb, kid. You’ve got it bad for your uncle. You even got hard at
the prospect of stripping naked for him, having your body at his mercy. You
sick fuck.”
He writhed at the belt binding him to the table. “Yeah? Well, you’re not Ford.
You just have his body.”
“No, I’m not,” Bill agreed, lowering himself to make further incisions to the
boy’s abdomen. “But he’s still fully conscious in the mindscape.”
He dug Ford’s gloved hand into the open cavity. “And he can see all of this.”
Dipper screamed violently, trying to get someone, anyone in the house to hear
him, but before he could continue, he blacked out.
***** Torture *****
One day when Dipper and Ford were playing Dungeons in the lab, the Author
brought up the idea of sexual experimentation.
“Dipper, I’ve wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Sure, great-uncle Ford. What’s up?”
“Being my apprentice, you’re always my first choice when I need to try
something out with someone. Some of these things are more dangerous than
others.”
Dipper nodded. “Uh-huh,” he punctuated, waiting for his uncle to continue.
Ford adjusted his glasses. “There are some more adult experiments I’ve been
wanting to test, about human capacity in certain situations. I don’t know if
you’d be up for it,”
The boy reacted immediately. “No, no! I can handle it!” he assured.
“Dipper, my boy,” Ford sighed. “I want to take a very scientific approach with
this. This has nothing to do with feelings, just research.”
He was lost again. “What are the experiments, exactly?”
“They’re sexual experiments, Dipper. I want to research the effects of orgasm
denial in different age groups. No younger than thirteen, so you’d be the
perfect candidate.”
He swallowed hard, feeling his stomach drop. Of course he wanted in, but not
for “scientific” reasons. He just wondered how much this was gonna fuck with
him.
“What about… legal stuff? I’m fourteen, you’re… sixty?”
Ford laughed. “Again, this is just for research. And, besides, there’s
confidentiality about the identity of each person being studied. No one will
know it’s you except me.”
“Okay,” Dipper took a deep breath. “I’m ready. I wanna do this.” For all the
wrong reasons.
“Splendid,” he clapped his hands together. “We’ll start tomorrow morning.”
===============================================================================
September 28
Day one of experiments in sexual frustration. I have Mason bound spreadeagle in
my laboratory. Results of experiment one to be logged.
“For our first test, I’ll unfasten one of your arms, and I want you to
masturbate until you’re about to reach orgasm. Stop before you climax,” Ford
warned.
Dipper was still nerve-wracked. Jesus, he was about to jerk off in front of his
uncle. And not just any uncle, but The Author. He swallowed hard, nodding. “I’m
ready.”
“Excellent.” He undid the binding on his arm and stepped back, turning back to
his notes. “You may now begin.”
It was so informal and awkward, but Dipper could feel his heartbeat at his
throat. He reached for his dick, which was already hard - it had been since
Ford tied his arms and legs. He started pumping, his face warm from arousal and
embarrassment.
The fact that Ford wasn’t watching made it a lot easier. He was already so
close to cumming just from adrenaline and the situation he was in. He moaned
and gasped, the sensation heightened by the fact that Ford could hear the
noises he was making.
Ford was right in front of him.
“Nnh, aah,” he jerked his cock faster, looking his uncle up and down. God, he
was so hot,, and he was right there. “Shit, fuck-- great uncle Ford,”
“Yes, Dipper?”
His face flushed and a chill washed over him. “I’m gonna cum,” he squeaked.
Ford knelt down in front of him, which practically pushed Dipper over the edge.
He grabbed Dipper’s wrist, stilling it, and pulled it away from his strained,
twitching cock.
He bound his arm again, and then sat down in front of his desk, logging in his
journal.
The boy shows sign of irritation. He displays a repetitive, stim-like behavior;
bouncing on his feel and clenching and unclenching his fist.
“You did good, Dipper,” he praised, unhooking the ropes around his limbs.
“We’re doing this again first thing tomorrow morning, alright?”
“Yeah,” Dipper agreed, impatient.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he added, putting the journal away. “No touching
yourself outside of this experiment, until I say so. Got it?”
Dipper’s face crumpled. He opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it.
“Okay,” he grunted.
He put his clothes on and headed back upstairs.
===============================================================================
October 2
Day five. I’ve decided to change the routine up slightly for today’s trial. So
far every morning prior to these trials, except the first one, Mason’s shown up
very eager to strip and masturbate. Today I plan on assisting him in
approaching orgasm.
Today, like the last few days, he showed up bouncing on the balls of feet,
speaking much too fast - obviously excited for sexual release. I wonder how
much longer he can take this.
“Strip,” Ford ordered.
Dipper dropped his pants almost immediately. His erection started to rise,
throbbing as it lifted.
Ford knelt in front of him again, tying his hands above his head. “I thought we
could try something different today,” he said, taking the boy’s hips in his
hands. Dipper’s erection swelled until it strained against his stomach.
“Great uncle Ford,” he moaned. “What are you doing?”
“You tell me right before you hit orgasm, got it?”
“What?” Dipper asked.
Ford wrapped two fingers and his thumb around Dipper’s tiny cock, stroking it
gently up and down the shaft.
“Ohhh,” Dipper moaned loudly. “Ford, oh my god,”
He sped up the pace, causing Dipper to shift his hips forward.
“Ford, Jesus, oh my god--don’t stop,” he bit hard on his lip. “Oh my god, yes,
yes, yes--shit,”
Dipper lost all his senses and suddenly he couldn’t get enough words out.
“Rub the tip, please, ohmygod,” he blushed furiously. Ford did as requested and
Dipper whimpered. “Ohh, fuck, great uncle Ford--”
Everything was too much, all at once. Suddenly heat pooled over everywhere that
Ford was touching.
“I’m gonna cum, shit, shit, I’m gonna cum--”
Ford pulled off and backed away, pulling out his journal and recording in it.
Dipper let out a whine, his cock throbbing hard and precum dripping. “No,” he
almost sobbed. “Fuck, I was so close that time,”
Suddenly Dipper’s body gave out and he broke down. He started to cry, and
eventually it turned into full-out bawling.
Hot tears streamed down his cheeks and he weakly rocked his hips forward.
“Please,” he begged. “This is torture. Grunkle Ford, please,”
He stopped writing for a second to look Dipper in the eyes. He finished writing
then closed the journal, pushing it away. “Please what?”
Dipper sobbed. “Please, Grunkle Ford, please let me cum,” he cried and he
blubbered and he tried to drop down to his knees but the binding wouldn’t let
him. “Please, I wanna cum,” he sniveled, his voice breaking.
Ford pulled himself closer to the boy and sighed, more playfully than out of
irritation. He took Dipper’s needy cock into his fingers and started to pump
it, resulting in louder crying, but this time out of relief. He continued to
jerk it until Dipper was beyond himself, thrusting messily into his uncle’s
hand and whimpering desperately.
“Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” snot dripped from the young teen’s nose.
“Please let me cum,” he begged, his voice barely audible.
He almost screamed at the intensity when he shot hot cum on Ford’s shirt,
whimpering from the sensitivity, the long days of edging.
Ford undid the bindings on his wrists and pulled his pants up, taking the boy
into his arms and rubbing his back comfortingly as he sniffled into his
shoulder. He gently brought him upstairs and set him into his bed, kissing his
forehead and shutting off the light.
After five brutal days of experimentation, Mason broke down and cried, begging
like a child to orgasm. I let him do so, concluding the experiment.
***** Amputation *****
There’s a secret door in the room where the evil Morty kept other versions of
himself hostage.
Anyone they saw go in never came back out. Most Morty Smiths from other
timelines were lucky enough to never have to go through this door.
One of the few times the door opened, the leader of the hostages peeked out.
Then he stepped out, hands behind his back - apathetic and collected, as usual.
“Morty Smith, earth dimension A-129.”
He waited, blinking his uncovered eye.
Finally one of the hostages stepped up, nervous and fidgeting.
“Come with me,” he spoke, emotionless as ever.
The other teen hesitantly followed, the door shutting loudly behind him.
In the room was a chair, with bindings on the armrests and legs. The floors
were dirty concrete that looked water-stained, and the walls were white and
stripped. Beside the chair was a medical table, and a cot. An empty cage sat in
the corner, and the dim light weakly flickered.
“Take a seat,” the leader said.
“Wh-why?” A-129 asked.
“Don’t question me, Smith,” he said firmly. “Take a seat or I’ll make you take
a seat.”
With no other option, A-129 sat down.
Morty immediately strapped his wrists down, before tying his ankles to the legs
of the chair. The bound boy instantly began to struggle.
“Calm down, now. There’s nothing you can do to stop this.”
Involuntarily, A-129 began to cry. “Wh-what are you going to do to me?”
Morty picked two rubber gloves out from a drawer in the medical table, pulling
them on. “Just relax. There have been countless other Mortys before you.”
He wriggled desperately anyway. ”What are you going to do to me?”
The boy standing above him cracked a smirk. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Morty pulled on the bottom drawer of the medical table and pulled out a rusty
handsaw. The boy in the chair screamed frantically, writhing in his restraints
but unable to loosen the bindings or turn the chair on itself.
He could hear the taller boy’s knuckles cracking through his gloved fist. He
put this hand down on A-129′s left arm, his grip strong but not painful. He
touched the teeth of the saw to the other’s skin, just enough so he could feel
it. Then he abruptly pressed it down hard, ripping through the skin and causing
A-129 to scream violently.
Morty started sawing into the boy’s flesh as though he were cutting through
tough meat. Blood sprinkled onto his face. He worked the sharp tool through the
muscle until he heard grinding as it reached bone.
A-129 screamed through gritted teeth, straining so hard that he was about to
blow a blood vessel in his face.
Pulling the now bloody saw back, he dropped it carelessly to the ground and
bent down to the bottom drawer again. He pulled out a smaller bone saw,
aligning it with the deep gash already just above the boy’s elbow. Morty
gripped it tight, holding down the boy’s forearm with his other hand, then
started to work it back and forth.
Finally the grinding sound ceased and there was only a sizeable layer of muscle
left. Instead of switching tools again, Morty finished off the limb with the
bone saw, setting it back down on the ground after cutting completely through
it.
He retrieved a couple more things from a drawer, then tied a tourniquet in the
middle of A-129′s bicep. With a short rope he bound the now stump of an arm to
the side of the chair. Morty then undid the binding on the lifeless,
disconnected arm, dropping it into a puddle of blood that had pooled on the
floor under the chair.
A-129 finally stopped screaming, breathing harsh and tears blurring his vision.
Morty pulled out another short rope and tourniquet. “Oh, don’t think I’m done
with you yet,” he laughed.
The boy in the chair let out another bloodcurdling scream.
After what seemed like hours, Smith finished cutting off his other arm and
tying the stump of it down to the chair.
“I’ve experimented with amputation before,” he said nonchalantly.
Grinding his teeth, A-129 made inhuman noises.
“I’ve experimented with lots of other Morty Smiths before.”
His breathing took off when he felt the cold, bloody glove pressing against his
skin again--this time on his thigh.
“You’re gonna be the first who gets all four of their limbs amputated.”
He screamed when he felt the bone saw press against his leg.
***** Cannibalism *****
Infinite timelines, infinite possibilities.
In one timeline Rick is a careless, alcoholic, nihilist grandfather that only
openly gives a shit about his daughter and secretly gives a shit about his
daughter’s son. He’s a space criminal and a pessimistic realist and he takes
his grandson on interdimensional adventures almost every day.
In another timeline, Rick never even had Beth. He ended up staying with a
humanoid alien boyfriend, and they settled after the fame of Rick’s band died
down. Rick ended up a washed up rockstar with a longtime boyfriend.
In other timelines he’s an award winning scientist that found the cure for
cancer. That discovered what really happens in a black hole. That found out
what really happens after you die.
In countless others he dies before thirty. Some are suicides. Some are the
result of his spaceship crashing. In some he’s murdered, in others he’s killed
on accident.
Some timelines he watches Morty die and lives with the grief for the rest of
his life. In others he doesn’t even know Morty exists, after abandoning his
daughter and never coming back in contact with her.
And in one timeline, Rick wants Morty. He wants him so bad that he’ll go to
obsessive, psychotic measures to have him. He’ll freeze his parents and his
sister in time so he can keep him caged in his basement and never let him out,
unless it’s to use his body.
He feeds him like a pet, cleans him in his cage, and gives him treats when he
makes his master cum. Rick falls asleep in his bed upstairs every night after
jacking himself off to the thought of Morty writhing in pain, within the hands
of his master. His master.
In this timeline Rick keeps a computer in his bedroom, where he’s connected to
the deep web and is active in many forums. He saves pictures and videos of
snuff and gets off to flesh tearing and organs spilling. He has an account on
several different illegal porn sites and forums, buying and trading pictures of
children. Morty has no idea.
He thinks about different things he’d do with his pet. The only issue is he
only has one Morty, so he has to make his decision wisely.
One day he stumbles upon a cannibal recipe site - detailing all the different
ways to cook human meat. Rick imagines his pet being cut apart and eaten, and
he can feel his dick throbbing in his briefs.
He puts a hand down his pants and starts to rub his cock, getting heatwaves at
the thought of it. Soon he pulls his pants down and jacks off until he cums on
his stomach. He knows exactly what he's going to do with his one Morty.
===============================================================================
Rick flipped the basement light on and off. “Morty, Master’s here,”
The boy perked up, and Rick unlocked the cage, opening the door and petting
Morty.
“Master’s got a great idea today. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Master.”
“I’ve trained you well.”
Rick tapped his thigh, signalling for Morty to come out. He did as told,
following his master.
“Rest your arm here,” he said, placing his hand on a counter.
Morty set his arm down, and his master opened a cupboard, pulling some supplies
out. He wrapped a tourniquet around the boy’s shoulder and shyly set the blade
of a handsaw just below it.
“R--Rick, what are you doing?”
“What did you call me?” Rick snapped.
Morty instantly winced. “I’m sorry, Master,”
“That’s right,” Rick said, started to saw into Morty’s arm.
The boy bit his lip and started to groan in pain. Rick’s pants grew tight at
the sound. “You’re being a wonderful boy for Master.”
Even in pain Morty moaned at the praise.
Rick made sure he drew out the process for as long as possible, his dick
twitching whenever his pet made a loud sound of distress. There was minimal
blood loss, but what did escape only fueled his fire.
Once he finished severing the limb, he kissed Morty’s forehead.
“You go back into your cage and take a nap, you must be so tired,” he cooed
gently. Morty nodded and followed his Master’s directions.
Rick picked up the arm and carried it with him to the staircase. “Master’s
going upstairs to cook this. If you want, I’ll bring leftovers to you for a
snack.”
Morty nodded sleepily.
“Sleep well, my beautiful pet.” Rick flipped the light off and made his way
upstairs, his hard-on aching and his mouth watering.
***** Gut Spill *****
“Wake up, Shooting Star.”
Mabel’s eyes fluttered open. The room around her was drained of color.
“Am I dreaming?”
The demon floated down into view. “You tell me,” he spoke, spinning his cane.
She threw her blankets to the side and sat up in bed, narrowing her eyes.
“Bill,” she spat.
“Aww, don’t be so bitter, sweetheart,”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” she yelled, furious at his condescending tone. “You tried
to kill my whole family.”
He laughed. “Yeah, yeah; we all make mistakes.”
Mabel was ready to scream. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing that’ll affect you outside of the mindscape,
She sputtered, confused. "The what?”
Bill tapped the greyed wall with his cane. “The mindscape. What we’re in right
now,”
“You did this to Dipper before, right?” her voice wavered. She wasn’t in
control anymore. “You went into his dreams, gave him nightmares, stuff like
that.” It came out more as a question than a statement.
“Mhm,” he sang.
“Okay, then tell me. What do you want?”
The demon floated over and stroked her cheek. “Why must you assume I always
have bad intentions?”
“Because that’s all you’ve ever had.”
“My, my. You’ve got me all wrong, Shooting Star.” He backed away only slightly.
“If you must know the truth, I’ve been watching you. I haven’t stopped watching
you since I first saw you, and I must say, for a mortal skin-puppet, you’re a
very aesthetically pleasing one.”
Mabel blushed in both flattery and embarrassment. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’re gorgeous, and I wanna play with that body of yours.”
She scoffed, appalled. “Ew. You know I’m fourteen, right?”
“Time’s merely a human concept. And I’ve already said - this is the mindscape.
None of this will leave here,”
“You’re not even human. What do you think you’re going to do with me?”
Bill thrust a hand into her stomach, grabbing whatever he could, and pulling it
out. Mabel’s eyes teared up on impact. “Something like that.”
Her voice broke. She fell over onto her knees, grabbing at her torn open
stomach. “Wh... why?”
“Because you’re pretty, and your insides are too.” Bill laughed madly, fading
away into the mindscape.
***** Ritualistic Sacrifice *****
Chapter Notes
     Some heavy family shit went down yesterday and I don't wanna go into
     detail but I didn't have access to a computer until now, which is why
     I'm updating late. I'll be posting both 8 and 9 today. Sorry for the
     wait.
Dipper knelt down to an empty patch of dirt, alone in the woods. He pulled his
backpack off and threw it down next to him, opening it up and pulling out a
pocket knife.
He was infatuated. He was lovestruck.
Flicking it open, he pulled back the sleeve of his sweater and sliced his
wrist, letting the blood dribble and flow into a bowl. Once there was a decent
amount, he pulled out a roll of bandages from his backpack and wrapped the
wound.
He was obsessed.
After dipping two fingers into the bowl, he began to paint the outline of a
triangle on the packed dirt. He went over it another time to make sure the
blood was coated thick. Anything for his Muse.
He retrieved three candles and a box of matches from his backpack. Carefully,
he set one at each corner of the sigil, and set the box down next to him.
Now was the hard part.
But he promised himself he’d do it. He’d been planning it for days. Anything
for his Muse.
It seemed like a full forty minutes before Dipper finally found a doe. He crept
up behind the animal, which had laid down on the forest floor and shut its
eyes. He only had one shot. Dipper pulled his arm back and pierced through the
back of the deer’s neck, stunning it.
He sighed in relief when it didn’t get up and run. He turned the corpse around
and slit its throat, letting it bleed out for a couple minutes, then dragging
the carcass back to the area he planned on making the sacrifice.
Dipper set the small deer down on the triangle in the dirt, then pulled out a
match, striking it lit on the box. Gently he lit the three candles, then shook
the match out, dropping it at his feet.
The late teen opened up his uncle’s journal and flipped it to the page on his
Muse. Crisply, he began to recite the incantation:
“Triangulum, entangulum. Veneforis dominus ventium. Veneforis venetisarium.”
He dropped to his knees, eyes glowing white.
Anything for his Muse.
***** Monster Form *****
Bill was dating Dipper, but only in the mindscape.
In the mindscape Bill could take on any form he wanted. Most importantly, his
form was physical - so he could be affectionate with Dipper.
Most of their affection was sexual. Sometimes they kissed. Sometimes they held
hands. But most of the time, they just fucked.
Kinky shit was Bill’s specialty. Dipper would find some obscure or disgusting
fetish on the internet and want to try it out--and Bill was always game. They
could do anything they wanted.
Bondage? Bill could make ropes and chains appear out of thin air in the
mindscape. Dismemberment? As soon as Dipper woke up, anything he lost in the
mindscape was right where it used to be.
And the relationship was so casual, Dipper could say anything anytime and Bill
would never judge or bat an eye.
Which is why, midfuck, he said to Bill: “Can you turn into a monster?”
“What’s that, Pine Tree?”
Dipper moaned as he clenched down on Bill’s dick. “Nnah,” he bit his lip and
shuddered. “I wanna big, scary, monster boyfriend to bend me over and… ffffuck
me,”
Bill giggled. “You want me to turn into a ‘big, scary monster?’”
“Mhmm,” Dipper moaned, drooling and flushed.
Jokingly exasperated, Bill complied, skin shifting from a dark mocha brown to a
fire hot red and eyes morphing together into one. His mouth stretched wide and
teeth sharpened into fangs, a long black tongue unfolding down past his chin.
Four extra arms outstretched from his sides, two grabbing Dipper’s wrists and
pinning them, another pressing so hard into his pale hip that it left bruises.
“This whatchu want, baby?”
“Hhhhah,” he managed, eyes blown practically into hearts.
Bill chuckled at the sight. His boy was a freak.
“I want you to…” Dipper trailed off, his mouth hanging open in ecstasy. “I want
you to… I want you to tear me open,”
“Hmm?”
“Tear me open,” the teen shrilled. “Make your dick ribbed--sharp--rip me open,”
They’d done worse. Much more violent stuff. Bill figured, for Dipper, this was
nothing. He shapeshifted only enough to his cock to match his babyboy’s
description.
Dipper’s opened started to bleed, and his whole face tinted pink. “Yes!”
Bill reached down with his last free hand and wrapped it around his Pine Tree’s
straining erection. “You close?”
“Fuck, yes,”
He jerked the boy’s cock hard, until it spurted hot all over his fingers and
his own belly.
“Ngah--! Bill, fuck…”
The demon laughed lovingly. He loved his little freak.
***** Blood Bath *****
Chapter Notes
     it's technically still the 10th
It started as an accident.
Rick taught him how to act in a tense situation. How to retaliate if Morty were
ever in a fight. After dozens of experiences with aliens and intergalactic
rapists and serial killers, some things just happened on instinct.
“Look at this kid tryna act like he own the place.” Laughs crowded around him.
Morty shriveled back, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.
“Aww, the little bitch is scared, just like a little baby,”
It’s not like he didn’t get shit like this on the daily. He was a scrawny,
stuttering and socially awkward geek. Anxiety got the better of him and the
words felt more threatening than they were, the the incessant laughter much
louder than it actually was.
The tall kid started to corner Morty, making him step back until he hit a
locker. There was no way out now.
“Whattaya gonna do now, faggot? You can’t run home to your big sister anymore,”
The kid felt so much closer to Morty than he actually was. So much taller and
more intimidating.
“Do something, jerk-off!” he snickered, shoving him in the chest.
That was what did it.
Instinctively he reached for his pocket. The taller kid was too slow to react,
and before he knew it the blade of a pocket knife slashed across his throat.
His eyes went blank and his body stilled. Blood gushed from the gaping slit
before he started to fall backward, hitting the floor. Only now the gathering
kids could see what happened.
Everyone looked to the now dead body on the floor, before looking up at Morty,
who held a bloody knife in his trembling hand.
“Holy shit,” onlookers muttered.
“He fucking killed him,”
Dark red blood pooled on the floor around the nameless kid’s neck. Normally
Morty would’ve gotten sick at the sight, his months of experience still not
desensitizing him to gore. But the adrenaline and the pounding thought of what
he’d just done outweighed the scene before him.
He didn’t mean to kill him. He was just defending himself.
Morty swallowed hard, backing away from the corpse in the middle of the
hallway. Without thinking he bolted and ran as far away from the silent
commotion as possible.
In his blind panic he bumped into someone else in the hall. Out of impact and
fear he screamed, on-edge from what’d just happened.
“Is that a weapon, young man?”
As he looked up he saw that who he’d run into was a teacher. In another act of
impulse he struck and dug the knife somewhere between the teacher’s gut and
chest.
Upon realization he started to hyperventilate. Oh god, it’s serious this time.
Morty felt like he was going to throw up.
I just killed two people. “Oh, jeez…”
He pulled his knife out of the body that was no longer breathing, and on the
floor in front of him. Other kids were looking now.
Instead of trying to fix the situation, which was much too big for him to
handle, he decided he couldn’t really make it any worse.
“Alright, all of you,” he shrilled, getting the attention of everyone who’d
stopped to watch. “I gotta fucking knife in my hands and if any of you take
another step closer, I-I… I’m gonna kill you too,”
Kids started to scream and run. There was no way out of this now.
Morty balled his fists and ran for the closest person to him, aiming his knife
and ready to kill.
***** Skewered *****
Chapter Notes
     You never find out what Morty did to deserve it. You gotta make it up
     yourself.
“Oh, you’re not getting off the hook that easy this time.”
Morty tried to struggle but it was no use. His arms and legs were bound. He
started to cry. There really was no way out.
“This time is gonna be your last time.”
This was it. This was how he was going to die. Morty started to hyperventilate.
“And don’t think your cute little boy act is gonna work on me,” he spat,
getting all up in the teen’s face. “I can’t feel anything. Not a single fucking
ounce of remorse.”
He let his head fall, tears still dribbling down the sides of his face anyway.
Rick grimaced at the expression. He drew his arm back and smacked him so hard
that his head jerked back and a bright red mark formed on his cheek.
Morty started to sob now, panicky and rocking back and forth on his knees.
“This is it, Smith. You’re dead fuckin’ meat now.”
“What’re you g-g-gonna do t’me?” he blubbered, near senseless.
“I ain’t tellin’ you yet, but you really crossed the line this time. It’s gonna
fuckin’ hurt, and I’m gonna watch and laugh.”
There was nothing but fear in the boy’s eyes.
Rick spread the boy’s legs after undoing the restraints, only to replace them
with weights. He shoved the boy forward, making him land face-first on the cold
concrete. Morty’s lip swelled upon impact. Rick stepped on the naked boy’s
back, pressing and holding him there.
“Last words? Sentiments?” He laughed at Morty, whimpering on the ground.
“‘Cause you won’t be able to talk after this. Hell, during this, even,”
Morty hiccupped. “I’m sorry,” he bawled.
“It’s too late for that,” Rick spoke coldly. Then he chuckled.
This was gonna hurt.
He aligned the stake with Morty’s tight little hole.
“No-- no-- What are you doing?!”
Rick kicked the flat end of the large spike deep into Morty’s rectum. The boy
howled in pain.
He screamed and screamed and screamed. "Stop!! Please stop!!”
“No one can hear you here, Morty!”
The man sighed, content with his work. He took the boy by the torso and the end
of the spit, lifting it so that it sat upright. He dug the stake into the
unfinished part of the ground, letting it stand there as Morty started to
slowly sink down the pole.
He sobbed silently, the sharp end of the spike digging into the boy’s guts.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Morty was being impaled to death.
After an hour or so, the spike was high up in Morty’s chest. Rick had been
watching obsessively, getting off on Morty’s pain--literally.
Morty could see an erection poking through Rick’s pants, which throbbed each
time Morty moaned in pain. Suddenly, it was hard for Morty to breathe. The spit
was pushing into the boy’s throat. He began to panic immensely, being struck
with the fear that these were going to be his last moments. He was actually
gonna die.
He wailed out as much as he could before he was rendered nearly mute. His mouth
was forced open as the spit made its way all the way up his throat.
Rick let out an audible moan. He frantically undid the front of his pants, his
now freed erection straining. In a rush he squeezed his cock, before quickly
jerking it. He moaned deep and loud, the sight of Morty’s impaled, dying body
making his cock throb.
Morty’s eyes started to roll into his head, the point of the spit pushing all
the way through. The fresh corpse lifelessly sank to the bottom of the stake,
and Rick whined in the back of his throat, just strokes away from cumming. His
erection ached with need and finally released, messy strokes matching with the
powerful, uneven spurts of cum.
The man stood there, exhausted and drained, covered in spunk and feet away from
a corpse.
***** Fire/Explosion Damage *****
Chapter Notes
     it's late and i'm tired so i decided to do something short and funny
     instead
He had three candles lit, two red and one black between them.
Dipper set the Fools tarot card face up, next to the candle on the very left.
He placed the paper he’d written the spell on in front of him--he’d copied it
down from some website.
After breathing deeply, he began to read it aloud.
“Fire, I summon thee; warmth, destruction, revenge. I summon ye the most,”
He pointed to the candle with the tarot card in front of it.
“By the day’s work and day’s night, from sun up to sundown, I summon your power
to aid my wishes.” He envisioned Robbie, who he still had a petty hatred for,
with Wendy--who he still had a crush on. “Valentino, Valentino, Valentino,”
The boy cracked all his knuckles, reminding himself why he was doing this. It
was childish and stupid, but he thought it would be a good release for his
anger. And even if it didn’t work, which it probably wouldn’t, it wouldn’t
really matter; it was more an emotional release than anything he took
seriously.
“I see you with great most distrust and see you spilled your hatred upon
others,” he visualized Robbie’s face as he repeated his name, “you need to
change your ways. I summon a revenge card in your favor, Robbie Valentino,
until you have changed your ways.”
Dipper flipped the tarot card over, face-side down.
“The fool knows it needs change. Until you change your ways what you dish out
will be returned to you times three by three. So shall it be, so shall it be.”
He waited three seconds, then let himself sink down, tired and bored. Even if
it did anything he wouldn’t know immediately, so he blew the candles out and
started putting everything away.
Just as he reached for the tarot card, he felt something white-hot and intense
overcome his whole body. It took a quick moment of realization before he
screamed, realizing he was completely engulfed in fire.
***** Decay *****
Chapter Notes
     I've been falling behind on this challenge but now that it's the
     weekend I'll be back on top of it soon. I've had multiple tests and
     an essay which all landed on the same day, so I've had no time to
     write. I've been eager to write this specific chapter, though; I've
     been looking forward to it.
     MAJOR CONTENT WARNING: There's already tags on this fic but this
     chapter is super graphic. Warnings for incest, pedophilia, and
     necrophilia - yeah, shit gets real in this one. I think I may have
     enjoyed writing it too much.
Not every Rick Sanchez is as aware as C-137 Rick. They go about their lives not
even considering the fact that alternate realities exist, let alone alternate
versions of themselves.
Those who aren’t self-aware can still be smart, though.
One particular Rick Sanchez had a fixation for dead bodies. He never shared
this with anyone, for fear of being ostracized. That didn’t stop him from
fantasizing about it, though.
There were many other problems he had, as well. Though he wouldn’t consider it
a problem, he knew he was attracted to men just as much as he was to women.
Other types of infatuation he had weren’t so normal.
His first abnormal attraction was to his baby brother as a teenager. Not only
was this his brother, but he was only four years old. Rick did nothing about
it, except maybe think about it a few times while touching himself.
Much later in life, as a father to his daughter, he noticed a similar
attraction to Beth. This started when she was about ten, and only grew more
intense when she got older. Never once did he touch her. Never once.
Even at the age of 60, after not being a part of her life for years, he still
felt the same fiery attraction to the now middle-aged woman. Still, however, he
never acted on it. She was married, and very happy with her marriage, and
Rick–being supportive of his little girl–didn’t want to interfere.
In fact, Beth was so content with her marriage, that she and Jerry planned a
week-long vacation across the country. As though it couldn’t be more perfectly
timed, their eldest daughter, Summer, had planned to stay at a friend’s house
most of the week her parents were gone.
Rick had the hots for his granddaughter too, but kept his hands off her. Not
for her sake or anything, but because he found no time or place to–and for one
other reason.
The attraction he felt to Summer was completely outweighed by the obsession he
had for her younger brother. More than Summer, more than Beth, and even more
than his own brother, Rick felt insanely, intensely in love with 14-year-old
Morty Smith.
He would spy on him going to the bathroom or getting dressed. Once or twice he
even caught him masturbating. Oftentimes Rick would peek on him in the shower,
but he couldn’t let anyone know about his pedophilic, incestuous urges and
fantasies.
That wasn’t the half of it. That was the tame part.
Rick fantasized about, more than anything else, naked corpses. He would touch
himself thinking about fucking dead bodies. Cold, unmoving carcasses.
He didn’t always fantasize about specific people. The thought of just a dead
body usually sufficed. When it wasn’t a dead body, he fantasized about Morty.
About his tiny, frail grandson struggling, begging no, begging please.
About his small, adolescent erection straining; about how tight his little
virgin asshole would be.
It didn’t take long before he realized that this obsession was the biggest he’d
ever had. Unlike the others, Rick knew he couldn’t keep his hands off this one.
He was the perfect age and size - not too young, but not too far gone. Morty
was just the perfect amount of boyish and feminine. And Rick wanted to have his
way with him, one way or another.
He didn’t intend to formulate a plan, but he found himself doing just that.
After all, everyone was gonna be out of the house except for the two of them
all week. This was the perfect time for Rick to act.
“Hey, Morty?” he called from the garage. “Could you help me out in here?”
The boy came running in, full of youthful energy. “Yeah, what’s up?”
Rick had to make this as quick and painless as possible. He didn’t want to make
a mess. “My back’s out, and I can’t reach down into those boxes on the bottom
shelf. I think I left the screwdriver I’m looking for in there, do you think
you could find it for me?”
“Sure,” he retorted, squatting down and bending over the box.
This was his chance. Rick had heavily doused a rag in chloroform. He knew
exactly how he was going to do this. He came up from behind and held it firmly
over Morty’s mouth and nose, holding his body with his other hand to keep him
from struggling. After a few seconds, the chemical started to make him weak and
drowsy, but he definitely still put up a fight; flailing in Rick’s arms and
screaming underneath the cloth.
Rick could feel himself popping wood just from trying to knock him out. His
plan wasn’t just to keep him unconscious, though.
It took a good few minutes before Morty was so weak that he surrendered and
went limp. Rick pinched the boy’s nose and covered his mouth, blocking his
airways for about three or four minutes until Morty was no longer breathing.
He checked his wrist and neck to find no pulse. Morty Smith was dead.
Rick exhaled in relief. The body in front of him started to lose color, all of
his muscles relaxing and his jeans soaking in death piss.
His heart rate quickened at the sight. The boy was really dead.
He swallowed hard, adrenaline taking over now. He didn’t think he’d actually
make it this far, but here he was. Rick dropped his pants, his hard cock
already throbbing.
The first thing he did was remove the dead boy’s shirt. Though getting slightly
colder, Morty’s skin was still warm and baby-soft. He rubbed his fingers over
the teen’s nipples and shivered. He never thought he’d actually get to touch
him.
Next he pulled down the piss-soaked pants. He studied the small bulge he often
fantasized about. Now he was going to be able to actually touch it. Hands
shaking, Rick yanked down Morty’s wet-through briefs.
He didn’t want to get ahead of himself yet. He lifted and spread the boy’s
legs, aligning his cock with the corpse’s opening. Morty was beautiful like
this, completely stripped except for his socks. And more importantly, dead, and
at the mercy of Rick.
Slowly, he pushed in, shuddering at the tightness. He thrusted in a few times,
noticing--quite alarmed--that Morty somehow grew an erection. Rick calmed down
slightly when he remembered reading that dead bodies could still get hard, and
sometimes cum, soon after death. The thought of it, in fact, made Rick’s member
twitch.
He fucked into the boy harder, overcome with lust. This felt good, too good. He
saw Morty’s cock twitch a few times, which gave him the idea to cup it in one
of his hands. The mere realization that he was holding his grandson’s hard cock
made him moan. He fucked into the dead boy’s hole, starting to jerk him off.
Rick watched the boy’s dick, enticed. Remembering he was alone, he let himself
cry out loudly, overwhelmed by the sensations he never thought he’d get to
feel. Soon, Morty’s dead erection came in cute little spurts.
The sight pushed Rick to the edge, much sooner than he thought he’d cum. He let
go of the now softening dick and held Morty’s hips tightly, thrusting in much
harder and faster. His pace grew uneven and his lower body throbbed, signalling
his oncoming climax; he shrieked, biting his lip so hard it bled, cumming
inside the dead boy’s hole for longer than he’d ever cum.
He didn’t think he’d even had that much spunk in him. When he pulled out of the
bloody asshole, his cum leaked out as well.
Rick noted that the corpse’s skin was starting to purple, the color in Morty’s
lips fading to white. He swallowed thickly, still in the aftershocks of his
orgasm. The boy in front of him was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen in his
life, and it was all his.
The old man laid on his belly on the cold garage floor, studying the beautiful
corpse. He watched until he noticed Morty’s eyes sinking into his skull and his
fingertips turning blue. He held the cold, tiny hands in his, lulling into a
peaceful sleep.
===============================================================================
He decided to keep Morty’s dead body in the garage. The next day, he went back
into it, sitting cross-legged on the floor and looking at the beautiful body
he’d began to call his lover.
Feeling him all over his skin, which was now as cold as the room around him.
Most of his body had started to turn blue, and the entire room smelled strongly
of rotten meat. Any other person would find the stench revolting. Rick thought
it was erotic.
He pulled his pants down to mid-thigh and began to stroke himself, gently
touching the boy’s decaying body. The discoloration was the most gorgeous thing
he had ever seen.
Roughly he rubbed over the head of his cock, thrusting into his fist and
groaning. He aimed his dick at the corpse and came on it, hot and thick. The
cum, he thought, made Morty’s violated carcass look even prettier.
===============================================================================
Three days had passed, and Morty’s body only grew more and more attractive to
Rick. It started to swell like a balloon, and it leaked at the mouth and
frequently-used asshole.
Rick fucked the oozing throat and then the boy’s stretched out hole. This
blistering corpse, this mutilated, decomposing flesh-pile--this was Rick’s
fucktoy now, and he loved more than he had ever loved another human being.
He had no idea how long it’d be before Beth and her husband found out, before
Summer noticed the putrid smell and discovered what was left of her brother.
But Rick vowed he’d hide it for as long as he could, making love to it whenever
he found the chance.
***** Plant Growth in Body *****
Dipper knew the first person to go to in a situation like this was his uncle
Ford.
After all, Ford had been in Gravity Falls longer than he had, and with his
years of research, he would be much more educated on the phenomena than Dipper
would.
“I was out exploring in the woods, right? And I found this really weird-looking
plant thing, so I took a picture and wrote down some observations,”
“Interesting,” Ford commented, half-listening and half-somewhere else.
“And I touched it--I didn’t mean to--and I got pricked by it. The think was
like, covered in thorns.”
“You could be poisoned if you’re not careful,” he warned, now concerned.
“I know, that’s why I came to you; my arms are itching like crazy.”
Ford rolled his chair over to where Dipper was standing, taking him by the
wrist and spinning his forearm so he could get a good look at the front of it.
“Any other affected areas?”
“No,” Dipper answered. “Just my arms. They itch so bad it hurts,” he moaned,
scratching away at them to prove his point.
“For right now, put some lotion on it, but I want you to stay down here so I
can study you. Also, if you could, I need to see the pictures and any notes you
took so I can try to identify it.”
After a half an hour or so, Ford had gone through all the resources he had and
still came up with nothing.
“Boy, you definitely found a unique specimen. It’s completely unidentified.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Continue to treat it the same way you’d treat a rash. If it worsens or
anything else strange happens, come to me immediately.”
“You got it, great uncle Ford,” Dipper promised.
===============================================================================
The boy couldn’t sleep. He was up all night, half-conscious, scratching at his
forearms. He woke up in a cold sweat at four in the morning, suddenly met with
a piercing pain. He knew he had to go right to Ford.
“Great uncle Ford,” he called, his cries echoing down the stairs. “Great uncle
Ford,” he repeated, shaking the man awake.
He jerked up from his sofa-bed, startled. “What’s the matter, Mason?” he asked,
putting his glasses on.
“It got worse,” he cried.
Ford turned the lights on and pulled out a magnifying glass. Sure enough, the
boy’s arms were not only bright red, but they had begun to form dozens of large
bumps.
“Mason, I want you to stay down here with me tonight, just in case anything
else happens.”
Dipper nodded, horrified. He had no idea what else could possibly happen.
He did, eventually, fall partially back asleep. His uncle dozed off before he
did, sleeping on the floor and generously letting the teen sleep on his bed.
Hours later, he felt a burning sensation take over. He shot up, more awake and
aware than he’d ever felt, suddenly met with an even more intense pain than
before.
“Grunkle Ford, what’s going on?!”
He screamed in anguish, feeling like he was being skinned alive. It took a few
seconds for Ford to become responsive, immediately taking action. “Mason, are
you okay?!”
The boy responded by shrieking, unable to form words. “It hurts,” he cried.
Tears rolled down the sides of his face and he screamed in unimaginable terror.
Suddenly, something started to rip through the skin of his arms.
Ford gasped, completely taken aback.
One by one, tens of dozens of thorns started to erupt from Dipper’s flesh.
***** Emaciation *****
Mabel hadn’t eaten anything in four days.
She felt weak and exhausted. Every time she stood up she saw stars and felt
lightheaded. But she was doing this for a reason, and she wouldn’t stop until
she saw the results she wanted.
She would do anything to be beautiful.
This had been a problem for her ever since she was fourteen, and now she was
doing something about it.
When it first started, she would skip meals every now and again. Look at
pictures of thin models and remind herself that one day, she would look like
that, too.
Three years passed and it had only gotten more intensive from there. She would
only allow herself one small meal a day, and the last two weeks, she’d been
trying to puke up anything she’d let herself eat.
But for four days now, she hadn’t even had to do that.
Mabel had never felt so terrible. But she looked in the mirror and could see
her ribs, and she smiled weakly. It was working.
At one or so in the morning, she no longer felt like a human being. She was so
out of it, that nothing felt real. For all she knew, she was dreaming. She was
sleepwalking.
Too out of her head to know any better, she found herself in the kitchen,
pulling food after food out of the refrigerator and cupboards. Her mouth
watered at the sight of all the foods she hadn’t been able to eat in months.
Finally, she spoiled herself, because she would wake up in the morning, stomach
growling, knowing it was all a dream.
But already, after the third plate, she felt her stomach churning.
She immediately realized that this was not a dream at all. She had really just
broken her fast, and her gut felt overstuffed with dirty, disgusting food.
Mabel ran to the bathroom and hunched over the toilet.
No, no, no. All that work she had put forward to make herself beautiful.
She strained as she emptied her system of anything and everything she had put
down.
She would do anything to be beautiful.
***** Painful Transformation *****
Rick and Morty found themselves walking out of the spaceship and back into the
garage.
“So,” Morty said, “what is all that for?” He gestured to the brightly colored
vials Rick was carrying with him.
“Meh,” Rick shrugged. “Just a couple different DNA samples.”
They parked the ship in the lab under the garage and made their way up to where
Rick kept all his stuff. Rick set the box down on the table in the garage.
“They’re all from separate alien fossils,” he continued. “So I’m not quite sure
what the creature each belonged to used to look like.”
Morty was curious now. “Is there any way to find out?”
Rick swiveled in his chair, filling a syringe with a neon yellow liquid from
one of the vials. “I’m glad you asked!” He rolled up the boy’s sleeve and stuck
the needle right into him.
“Ow!” Morty yelped. “Wh-- what the hell, Rick?!”
As soon as he finished pushing all the liquid out of the syringe, he pulled it
out of Morty’s arm and set the empty instrument onto his desk. “Just checkin’
to see if it has any effect on you. If it does, I’m sure it’s reversible,”
Just then, a gurgling noise came from the core of Morty’s body. “Oh-- ooh,”
Morty winced, slightly doubling over in pain. “I don’t feel so good,”
Morty abruptly jerked back, his face morphing in shape and his arms becoming
disfigured.
“Wh-- wh-- what’s going on--?”
Sharp scales ripped out from underneath his pulsing limbs and coated his now
purplish, reptilian skin. His eyes swelled and turned a neon yellow, much like
the sample pumped into him, rising to a new position on his face.
“Ohh shit,” Rick muttered.
***** Backstabbed *****
Rick had a crystal that allowed him to clone anyone whose DNA he came in
contact with. That information is unimportant, but with the power it held, it
was asking to be stolen. He and his grandson track down the thief, who resides
in a whole other galaxy, retrieve the crystal, and are now running away from
said alien, who discovered that they’d stolen it back.
Just your average day for Rick and Morty.
The situation was calling for a pileup, being that the thief had backup. After
a few minutes of running breathlessly more similar-looking aliens joined the
first one’s side. Rick groaned in frustration, but this was nothing him and
Morty couldn’t handle - they’d made it out of everything else so far.
Suddenly the boys realized that the aliens chasing them had weapons. Rick
didn’t bat an eye; he didn’t even think about it. Morty, being Morty, started
to panic instantly.
“Wh-- what’re we gonna do, Rick?” he cried.
Rick grabbed Morty’s arm and pulled him along as he started to run faster.
“Don’t worry about it,” he assured.
Morty suddenly no longer felt Rick’s arm pulling, and he stopped shortly. It
took him a second to register what’d just happened, but when he pulled back, he
saw it.
One of the three other aliens had thrust a dagger directly through Rick’s
chest.
The boy’s eyes were locked on how it went clean through his spine, opening up
at the front of his body. All of a sudden the shock set in and Morty screamed
bloody murder. He felt like he was going to throw up.
“Ohmygod--Rick! Rick!”
He dropped to his knees when his grandfather’s body hit the ground. He was
weak, bleeding out, and guaranteed to be dead in minutes--but Morty didn’t
care. He still tried to shake Rick awake.
“C’mon, grandpa,” he choked, tears pricking in his eyes and a lump rising in
his throat. “Don’t die, please, don’t die,”
Rick groaned, barely audibly. His eyes were already in the back of his head. He
was too far gone.
Snot oozed from the young teen’s nose. “Please, grandpa Rick,” he begged,
starting to lose himself. He was crying and he couldn’t stop.
The old man reached a hand up to the boy’s face and stroked it weakly. He
hacked, coughing up blood, and tried to manage a dying breath. “Be good,
Morty,” he finally spoke. His hand fell back.
“No,” Morty sobbed. “No no no no no no no,”
Rick went completely limp, and subsequently stopped breathing. Morty screamed a
gut-wrenching sob that everyone else around them had to hear. He collapsed on
top of his dead grandpa and held his body close, rocking manically, and crying
into his bleeding chest.
***** Acid Burn *****
Dipper’s admiration crush on his uncle Ford made him all the more susceptible
to carelessness.
Oftentimes when Ford was out of the house, Dipper hung around his lab. When
Ford was home, no one was allowed in his lab unless he called for them - it was
dangerous, he said; it wasn’t a safe place for children.
Being fifteen, Dipper failed to consider himself a child--which is why he
consistently invited himself downstairs when his uncle wasn’t there.
It was interesting to him, all the scientific gear, samples, and notes. He
fucked around with tech and beakers and read through research Ford had done
apart from the journals - findings Dipper didn’t even know about. He found
himself enlightened by all the information, and even more enamored by the fact
that he wasn’t supposed to know about it.
One of the many times he snuck into Ford’s lab, he came across a collection of
vials and other various samples. He wasn’t too educated on how to properly
treat these substances, or any substances, for that matter--which made him a
lot more foolish in how he went about it. He’d pick up the containers they were
in, sniff them, sometimes dip a finger in and lick it.
If Ford knew how irresponsible he was, he’d yell at him.
But Ford wasn’t there, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Being so concentrated on what he was doing, he was caught off-guard when his
phone vibrated in his pocket. So off-guard, in fact, that he jolted.
And backed into the table, which caused the collection of vials to topple over.
Multiple of them spilled onto Dipper’s arm, which was outstretched to break the
fall. After a split second the liquids started to sizzle and burn, making
Dipper scream out loud.
The white-hot burning was intense. Dipper tried to wipe it off, which only made
the inside of his hand burn as well. The burn went bright red and bubbled,
which also made the boy shriek.
He flailed his arm in the air, hoping that would do something, but the pain
barely faltered. He screamed for no one to hear him. His uncle couldn’t help
him this time.
Despite this, he still screamed, “Great-uncle Ford, help, please,”
He started crying, damning himself for doing so. Holding his arm, he ran
upstairs to grab towels and clean up the mess he inadvertently made. After
sopping up whatever was left on the floor, he ran to a sink and stuck his arm
under cold water.
This action was obviously done pretty late, but Dipper was still in shock. If
Ford were there, it would’ve been the first thing he’d done, after yelling at
him.
God, he thought, Great-uncle Ford’s gonna kill me.
***** Robotic Parts/Prosthetics *****
Morty was in the garage with Rick, cutting up some dead alien lifeform with a
laser sword Rick had trusted him with.
“Be careful with this thing,” Rick warned him. “It could cut your hand clean
off.”
The boy assured he knew what he was doing, being slow and steady about the
whole thing.
After a good ten minutes of working with it, he decided he knew the process
well enough to speed it up a little bit. He started chopping faster, eventually
getting so into the rhythm that he stopped thinking about what he was doing.
At one point he closed his eyes, daydreaming instead of watching what he was
doing.
His eyes shot open, however, when he felt a sharp wave of blinding pain, and
then nothing but a dull burn at his wrist.
“Holy shit, Morty,” Rick stammered.
It took Morty a second to comprehend what he’d just done. Before him sat his
burnt stump of a wrist, and what used to be his hand. There was no blood
anywhere.
“Wh-- wh-- what the fuck, Rick?!”
Rick was mindlessly searching through a box of what appeared to be emergency
supplies. “I can’t believe you a-actually did it,” he gaped, mind boggled. “I
was only kidding,”
Morty was at a loss. “R-Rick, what the hell just happened?!”
“Can’t you see, you little bastard? You cut your hand off, just like I said,”
Rick sputtered, panicking and thinking fast.
“Oh, jeez,” Morty wavered.
Rick slammed the box he was rummaging through onto the table. “Don’t worry, I
got just the thing,” he assured. He pulled out what looked like a metal mold of
a hand.
“What’s that?” Morty asked.
The older man fucked with the wiring coming out of the “wrist” of the gadget
for a second, before taking Morty’s own wrist into his hand. “It’s a prosthetic
hand,”
Morty swallowed hard and trusted in his grandpa.
“Just hold still, okay? I just need a second t-to rewire the damn thing,”
The boy closed his eyes and sighed in relief. Somewhere in the back of his
mind, even when he’d just barely processed what’d happened, he knew Rick would
find a way to fix it.
Right as he opened his eyes, Rick was almost done attaching it. He pulled out a
small hand drill to do the final touches, screwing it on, then wiped the sweat
from his brow.
“There, good as new.”
Morty flexed his new hand, opening and closing the fingers. “I don’t feel
anything when I touch it,” he commented.
“It’s better than not having a hand, isn’t it?”
“W-well… yeah,”
“Good, then you’ll deal.” He turned around, feeling brushed off.
He spun his wrist again, getting a good look at the replacement. “Thank you,
grandpa Rick,”
The man’s face softened. “No problem, Morty.”
***** Parasite *****
It was just a small thing that Morty should’ve shrugged off. Rick would’ve,
after all.
But every night since, it had been in his dreams.
He and Rick would be hidden in a dark alley, trying to avoid space police.
Keeping their heavy breathing down, trying to lay low until it was safe to come
out--and then something cold, wet, and tight struck his face with full force,
clinging to it. Rick had managed to pull it off, but not without bruising, and
what Morty could swear felt like something sharp pushing into his mouth.
The dream would continue, with Morty feeling a desperate tickle in the back of
his throat. He’d awake with a start, still feeling the same tickle in his
throat.
===============================================================================
“Rick, I need help,” Morty begged, fidgeting as he shuffled into the garage.
“What is it this time,” Rick groaned, obviously busy with something.
“E-- ever since that, thing jumped on my face, I’ve been feeling… off,”
Rick snorted, rolling his chair around to see Morty - and clearly not
interested, hunched over and in bathroom position. “Could you be a tad less
vague,” he gestured, irritated.
“Aw jeez,” he murmured, rubbing his shoulder. “I think, I think it put
something in my mouth,”
Rick actually snort-laughed aloud. “The horny fuckin’ thing musta raped your
sweet little teen mouth,”
The boy repelled in disgust, making Rick laugh harder. “I-- I’m serious, Rick!”
he snapped.
He put his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle his sick amusement. “Okay,
okay, sorry, Jesus, Morty.” Promptly he went back to whatever he was working
on.
“Well?” Morty gestured vaguely in bewilderment.
“Well what,” Rick said, back to his monotonous apathy.
“What am I gonna do, Rick? Ever since that thing jumped on me, there’s been
this itch in my throat, and it won’t stop,” he cried, his inflection raising
near the end of the statement.
“Chill the fuck out,” Rick groaned. “It was probably nothing, and those two
things probably have no correlation. Most likely placebo,”
Morty frustratedly threw his fists to his sides, but he didn’t argue. His
grandpa was probably right. “Fine,” he surrendered.
“Alright, cool. Now go pester your sister or something,”
Just as Morty turned to leave, the incessant itching turned into brutal pain.
“Rick,” he screamed.
“What now,” he snapped, rolling his chair to face his grandson.
He raised his hands up to his throat to protect himself from what he didn’t
know was about to happen. The pain heightened until it almost felt like there
was a razor blade stuck inside his throat. He tried to scream, but only
succeeded in coughing blood, before both his throat and mouth were ripped open
by some tentacled creature.
Rick pulled his laser gun out on impulse and aimed, but didn’t shoot. He was
dead silent in shock, suddenly aware of what’d just happened. A parasite.
He prayed silently to a deity he normally didn’t give the time of day, hoping
the thing that jumped Morty didn’t touch him. His gut dropped to the floor when
he felt something crawling up his throat.
***** Manslaughter *****
The lightswitch flickered on and off. This again.
Morty became accustomed to Rick drunkenly barging into his room in the middle
of the night. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but definitely was more often
than it should’ve been.
“What’s up, Rick?” Morty tiredly offered.
Rick made himself welcome on Morty’s bed, sitting right up next to him. “Jusss…
thinkin’ bout things, thinkin’ bout how people… people aren’t real,”
“Uh-huh,” he agreed, absentmindedly. Rick did this a lot.
“And how you’re not real,” he slurred. “Are you real?”
“Uh-huh,” Morty repeated.
The man propped up on the boy’s bed, getting on all fours and pulling him in by
the shirt. “Don’t lie to me, you fuck!”
He didn’t react, stunned by shock. It’d been awhile since Rick got physical
with Morty. “I-- I’m not lying,” he sputtered.
“You can’t lie if you’re not real!” Rick was spitting in his face, frantically
shaking his body back and forth.
“Kn-kn-kn-- Knock it off, Rick,” he finally stuttered out.
“Don’t you knock it off, Rick me you nonexistent son of a bitch!” He suddenly
started flinging him, hitting him into the bedside wall.
Recklessly, Morty grabbed the pocketknife he kept on the table next to his bed.
Responding only out of fear, only out of terror, and not with the emotion he
felt for his grandpa - he stabbed the small weapon into his chest.
Rick drew back in surprise, sobering up. “M-- Morty,” he wavered, dizzying and
falling back.
“Oh… oh no,” Morty gulped, in sudden realization of what he had just done.
The old man’s limp form rolled off Morty’s bed, his chest bleeding out onto the
carpeted floor.
***** Animal/Beast Wounds *****
Chapter Summary
     i'm so hype for a few of the chapters of this one
“Did you hear that?”
Dipper shone the flashlight back and forth across the cold dirt ground. “I
don’t see anything,”
“I heard something behind us,” Mabel insisted.
The twins were out in the woods, late October night. Not looking for anything
in particular, just having some fun in the spirit of the season. They’d grown
much too old to go trick-or-treating, but since they were staying in Gravity
Falls, they figured creepy forest hunting would suffice.
Hunting for ghosts, they called it. It wasn’t like they didn’t believe ghosts
existed - quite the contrary, since they had firsthand experience. But they
highly doubted one would just be chilling in the woods late at night; ghosts
usually had reason to be where they were.
Dipper normally wasn’t one to freak out at the presence of someone else, but at
three in the morning, it’d be a little more than frightening if there was in
fact somebody following the teens.
He flipped around and shone the beam of light up and down, still not coming up
with anything.
“I think we’re safe,” he exhaled in relief.
“Okay, but if I hear it again, we’re going back to the Shack,” she pushed.
What sounded like running footsteps against the ground increased in volume just
behind them.
“Dipper, I told you!” Mabel whisper-yelled.
“Alright, fine, let’s just get back fast, okay?”
Suddenly the noise was accompanied by howling.
Dipper tsked. “It’s just a dog, Mabel,” he groaned.
“What if it’s not?”
The boy put his hand to his face in annoyance. “What else would it be, then?”
he suggested.
“I dunno… just…” she trailed off.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. Someone’s dog is just wandering around in the
woods, so what?”
Mabel sighed. “Fine.”
“Good. Now let’s get back to finding ghosts,” he laughed. His sister laughed
too, getting back into the spirit of things.
The howling got louder. It still irked the girl but she shrugged it off. Dipper
was probably right.
But soon enough the beast’s growling was only feet away from them.
“I don’t think it’s a nice dog,” Mabel whispered to her brother.
Dipper rolled his eyes, before the canine scampered up just behind him and took
his arm in his teeth. He yelled in shock and tried to jerk his arm away.
Only then could the teens see that this wasn’t just some stray dog--this was a
monster.
The boy finally broke away from the beast’s grasp, falling onto the ground in
the effort. The creature pounced on him, snarling in his face.
“Dipper!” the girl cried.
He screamed as the canine sunk it’s maw into the flesh of his face. Mabel
shrieked louder, the sound echoing in the desolate woods. The wolf didn’t stop.
It continued to tear Dipper apart.
***** Nosebleed/Bruises/Minor Injury *****
There was yelling and there was spitting. It was a fight over something petty
and insignificant. Something teenage brothers would fight about.
Stanley was the much more physical of the two, and where he lacked in his
brother’s brains, he made up for in violence. When Stanford would retort
something short and witty, something that cut deep and made Stan flare up in
anger and emotion, he’d get all up in the scrawnier boy’s face and shove him.
Just because Ford was small didn’t mean he couldn’t fend for himself, though.
If his brother started throwing punches, he would too.
The thing that Ford would never admit was that it turned him on. He purposely
got into these fights because he got off on it. Not so much yelling, but being
yelled at. Especially by his brother.
“You fucking asshole,” he snarled.
The words were spitfire but they made Ford swallow hard. He didn’t know why
Stan’s rough, pissed off voice has such an effect on him, but it did.
“Is that all you have to say, Stanley? You can’t come up with anything more
coherent?”
He knew he was digging his own grave when he said these things, but the
adrenaline made his stomach simmer. He did it because he knew he would get the
result he wanted; Stan would draw back in surprise, then inch back in and bite
his head off.
“You and your smart fuckin’ mouth,” he sneered. “You can talk all ya want but
you can’t do shit,”
It took all of Ford’s will not to pop wood in front of his brother. Oh god, he
knew what he was gonna be jerking off to tonight.
“If you’re such a big man, let’s see you do something, then,”
Stan stomped up to the other teen and grabbed roughly him by the front of the
shirt, before his fist collided with the other’s jaw.
Ford’s lip swelled and immediately drew blood. The coppery taste and the pain
of the impact made his breathing hitch. He stood up tall under his brother’s
grasp and socked him in the stomach. Stan withdrew, giving Ford the freedom to
punch him in the nose.
“Why, you,” Stanley snarled, blood dripping from his nose. The sight was like
sex to Ford.
Stan went right back in, punching his brother directly in the face. His glasses
shattered, and his nose began to bleed as well. Blood rushed also to his loins,
but he tried to ignore that. His brother then kneed him in the gut, before
punching the now hunched over boy in the shoulder.
He spit on the boy, now curled up on the floor, and headed for his room.
===============================================================================
In the bathroom, Ford took his clothes off and assessed himself in the mirror.
His shoulder was bruised and so was his nose, but it wasn’t broken. His glasses
were fucked, though.
He looked at himself, at his split, swollen lip. He couldn’t take waiting
anymore. He undid his pants and shoved them down, taking himself in his hand
and pumping himself to take the edge off. He sighed contently.
The thought of everything that’d happened was hot as fire and pushed him a lot
closer than he’d intended to be. He didn’t know how much he’d like seeing
Stanley bleeding. Almost as much as he liked being beat up, but not quite as
much.
He imagined what Stanley would say or do if he saw what it did to Ford. He’d
call him disgusting and a freak, like everyone else had called him a freak. He
panted, already close to cumming.
Stan would probably spit on him, and tell him he didn’t want anything to do
with him. No, that’s not what Ford wanted. Ford wanted his brother to kick him
to the ground and pin him there, force himself on top of him and rape him. The
head of his cock was leaking.
“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. He opened his eyes to look at himself in
the mirror. Dry blood under his nose, glasses cracked, shoulder bruised up and
lip cut open. Stanley did this to me, he thought to himself, before he came all
over his hand.
***** Post-Mortem Examination *****
Chapter Summary
     oh boy, here i go sinnin' again
Chapter Notes
     [Another major content warning for graphic necrophilia and
     pedophilia.]
Rick was a scientist. It was only natural to want to do an autopsy on someone
close to him had they just died.
Rick was a doctor. Well, technically he was a doctor–he had a doctorate degree.
“A doctorate in what?”
He himself didn’t even know half the time. The important thing was, he was a
scientist, he’d dabbled in the field of medicine, and he had a doctorate
degree. That’s all Rick needed to qualify himself as a doctor.
He had dissected dead animals before, and he’d watched plenty of snuff movies;
he figured that gave him enough background knowledge to perform an autopsy.
With Beth being an animal surgeon and with him having a half-assed PhD, he was
able to pull some strings. That’s how he found himself in the hospital his
daughter worked at, after closing hours, with his dead grandson’s body sprawled
out on a dissection table.
No one else knew Morty was dead. That was the tricky part.
Rick washed his hands and mentally prepared himself for what he shrugged off as
a standard examination. There was no reason to do it - Rick already knew how
the boy died. He was poisoned. Short and sweet.
But, he’d convinced himself, this would be good practice should he ever delve
deeper into the medical field. He had many an open road, after all.
What happened after this didn’t matter. How he’d explain to Beth and Jerry
their son’s death, he didn’t know. What he’d do afterward, he didn’t know
either. But that didn’t matter right now.
He pulled on two cold blue rubber gloves and pulled out the tools necessary for
for examination.
Rick hadn’t changed clothes. He was wearing his usual lab coat and slacks, but
with gloves and a scrub cap. He didn’t think this would take too long.
He began the procedure with the external examination.
He took a deep breath, cracked his neck, and started to strip the corpse naked.
That’s when Rick’s true intentions, which he buried deep in the back of his
mind, began to resurface.
He’d seen Morty naked before, of course. But this was a new spark. A new
feeling. Morty was dead and the two were alone - and dead boys can’t say no.
Rick internally socked himself for even thinking such a thought.
But no one would ever know.
He bit his lip, tapping his foot rapidly and anxiously. He looked all around
him and found no cameras that were turned on. No one would ever know. He
swallowed hard.
This was all he would do, he convinced himself. He reached a gloved hand
between the boy’s thighs, gently feeling over his soft cock and balls. He
shivered at the feeling, withdrawing only to remove the glove and do it again.
The boy’s skin was cold - that was a given. He was dead. But it was also soft
and smooth, exactly that of a young teen. Rick gently groped the small set of
genitals, giggling as he did so. This was so naughty. And Morty was so cute and
little.
“That was the farthest he’d go” - that’s a laugh. Once he’d started, he
couldn’t stop. He was giddy and high on adrenaline. He had his dead grandson’s
body in front of him, naked and unresisting.
It didn’t help that Rick had been pining over the fourteen-year-old up until he
died.
He couldn’t stop. He’d never had this opportunity before and he’d never have it
again.
Rick cupped the dead boy’s cute little cock in his fingers and pumped it, as
though he were jerking him off. It didn’t matter if Morty wasn’t there to feel
it. It was cuter soft, anyway. Rick’s cock, on the other hand, was rock hard
and massive. It throbbed under his slacks at the sight of the boy’s tiny little
dick. God, it was like a baby’s dick.
He reached down and squeezed his pulsing erection. He had to pull himself away,
at least for now.
Now that Morty was naked, it was time to move on to the second portion of the
autopsy: the internal examination.
Rick pulled out a scalpel. First he made two short, diagonal incisions stemming
below the boy’s shoulders, and one long vertical incision where they met, all
the way down the navel.
His cock still throbbed in his pants.
He examined the boy’s organs, feeling around his insides with the hand that was
still gloved. Rick squeezed one of the organs, wet and still slightly warm, and
imagined himself fucking it. His dick, straining in his pants, was now so hard
it hurt.
He pulled his grandson’s sliced open body down the table so that his butt was
just above the edge, and spread his legs wide - one hand directly touching the
cold skin of his thigh and the gloved one smearing blood all over the other. It
felt so good to defile Morty’s body.
In a rush he unzipped his slacks and popped the button, yanking them and his
boxers down in one swift motion. His erection bobbed, tinted red from the
strain and the blood flow. With his bloody hand he gave himself a few strokes,
both to slightly take the edge off and to serve as lube.
He aligned the aching head of his cock into Morty’s hairless, tight little
asshole. He moaned before even pushing in just at how good the contact felt.
Rick replaced his hands on the boy’s thighs and pushed in, already whining
loudly after just the tip was in.
Rick grabbed Morty’s hips and pulled his body all the rest of the way down onto
his long, thick erection. The old man practically cried out. Then he started
fucking mercilessly into the lifeless body.
Only a few thrusts in and he could already feel his climax building. His whole
body felt warm and overwhelmed.
“Oh, Morty,” he whimpered.
His cock throbbed inside the carcass’s asshole, before he came mid-thrust. Rick
almost screamed at the intensity, cumming for almost a full minute. He nearly
blacked out, but got a hold of himself, and pulled out of the corpse of his
dead grandson.
***** Skeletal/Bones Showing *****
Chapter Notes
     you know how the grinch stole christmas
     well this is how mabel fucked up thanksgiving
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Mabel’s in the kitchen helping Dipper and their parents make dinner. She’s in
charge of cutting the vegetables for stuffing the turkey, which gives her the
ability to use a knife. She’s having fun with it, dancing around as she chops,
humming to whatever’s playing on the radio.
As she’s got a busy mind, she’s focusing on multiple tasks at once. She’s
joking around with Dipper while not keeping her eyes on the task at hand. She
knows what she’s doing, or rather, she doesn’t even stop to think about it.
She holds the sharp kitchen knife while flicking her wrist in response to
whatever witty remark Dipper made, stifling a giggle. She takes a second to
refocus on the cutting board, and goes back to what she’s doing, her eyes
drifting as her head fades to the clouds.
It’s only a few seconds later that she feels the blade of the knife sinking
into her hand. Mabel, being Mabel, doesn’t go into shock right away--she
instantly starts screaming.
Dipper and his mom and dad drop whatever it is they’re doing and go running
right to Mabel. There’s panic and there’s commotion and Mabel is screaming and
crying. They’re all trying to calm her down, Dipper doing most of such, holding
her gently and repeating shushes, “it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay,”
Their mom is slightly queasy from all the blood, trying to stay still and be
there for her daughter but also trying to keep her lunch. She silently strokes
Mabel’s hair, following Dipper’s lead.
The dad takes control of the situation and gently takes Mabel by the wrist.
“Just stay still, okay?” he speaks, taking the knife from the handle. “I’m
gonna pull it out and then we’ll call an ambulance.”
He does just as he says he would, pulling it out as carefully as possible,
Mabel shutting her eyes tight.
“I’m gonna grab something to wrap it with, you stay still,”
She does as told, but out of curiosity, peeks her eyes open to look at the
wound. Immediately she feels faint at the sight, her stomach turning and face
going pale.
Somehow, the teen cut deep enough for bones to be exposed, poking out under the
pooling blood and torn flesh. She gags, trying to hold it together, but
ultimately fails, puking on the floor. Dipper jerks back, but not before
getting the slimy vomit on his shirt. He steadies his breathing, unfazed,
focused on his sister’s injury. He wipes the chunks off his own hand and goes
back to holding Mabel, comforting her.
She just stands there, staring at the wreck that used to be her hand.
Chapter End Notes
     idk why i chose thanksgiving i just wanted to do something autumnal
***** Crushed *****
Chapter Notes
     i got really fucking behind on this--my only excuse is that my
     internet's been out for a few days, but i'm back now
Bill Cipher has ways of making people talk.
“Just tell me the password and I won’t hurt anyone,”
Dipper practically spit through gritted teeth. “I’ll never tell you. I don’t
care how bad you hurt me,”
The demon laughed. “Oh, I’m not gonna hurt you,”
The chained up teen only stared back blankly. “Huh?”
“You’ll have no choice but to tell me. I’ll get to you through someone you
love. Someone you care about more than anyone else.”
Dipper started to wriggle in his restraints. “No– you can’t–” he insisted,
struggling incessantly.
“Hmm, who should I use…? How about that redhead girl? Maybe your sister?”
He kept pleading “no, no,” but to no avail.
Bill inched in uncomfortably close. “Or,” he whispered, “your uncle Ford?”
Dipper gaped, blubbering in protest. “No! Please!”
“So you’ll tell me?”
The human bit his tongue. “Never.”
Bill shrugged apathetically. “Then I guess I have no choice.”
The demon snapped his fingers, willing Stanford into existence before them. The
Author looked around, obviously speechless and confused. “W– where am I?”
Suddenly he spotted his nephew, starting to sprint toward him.
“Oh no you don’t,” Bill spoke firmly, binding the older man in place at will.
Ford’s ankles were bound to the floor, his feet unable to move. He kept trying
to pry away but he couldn’t, completely stationary and helpless. “Dipper,” he
cried. “What does he want?”
Dipper bit his tongue, but relented, “The password to your laptop,”
The man shook his head. “Come on, what could he do that’d warrant us telling
him?”
Bill snapped his fingers once more, making a large metal block appear above the
older captive mortal. Slowly, it began to lower. “You have thirty seconds,
Fordsy.”
Ford simply laughed. “He’s bluffing,” he called over to Dipper. “He wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would,” Bill smirked. The heavy block continued to lower.
“Great-uncle Ford, I should just tell him,” Dipper panicked.
“Don’t you worry, boy,” Ford assured. “He talks a good game but he never goes
through with these things. Within a second of this block dropping, he’ll change
his mind.”
It only pressed lower, shifting the man into an uncomfortable position
sandwiched between it and the ground.
Dipper perked up to say something, increasingly worrying about his uncle.
“Don’t tell him!” Ford warned.
Suddenly Bill drew his hand back. “Oops!” he snickered.
The metal block fell with such force that the sound of the blow made Dipper’s
ears ring. It almost outweighed the volume of the cry the boy made, a guttural
and pained no that rang in the air much too late.
Red gore gushed from the sides of the two colliding forces. Bill lifted the
blood-stained plate to reveal the wreckage that laid beneath it. The body, or
whatever remained of it, was no longer recognizable; Ford’s remains were a red,
squishy pulp of a mess. Dipper, almost passed out, felt like he was going to
throw up.
***** Possession/Corruption *****
Seventeen-year-old Mason Pines was once again confronting Bill Cipher in his
dreams.
“What do you want this time?”
“Nothing that’ll affect you much, I just need to borrow your body again. I
won’t take too long. And I’ll even give you something in return,”
Mason pondered it for a second. “What would that be?”
Bill floated above the boy’s shoulder. “Well, that’s a surprise,”
He groaned. “Why would I say yes to that?”
“Because you’re gullible,” the demon laughed, “and your curiosity will get the
better of you in the end. C’mon, don’t you wanna know what it is?”
Bill was right about one thing. Mason was gullible as all hell.
Which is how he found himself, yet again, shaking hands with the devil.
Cipher laughed manically, ripping Mason’s soul from the human vessel and
eagerly taking his place in it. Bill opened his eyes in Mason’s body, lifting
his head up to reveal piercing yellow pupils.
“Alright,” the boy said, now a ghost in the mindscape. “What do you need to
do?”
He opened up Mason’s top dresser drawer, pulling out a box of matches. The he
reached under the bed to retrieve all three of Ford’s journals.
“Wait-- no--” Mason argued, but Bill reached a match between his lips, striking
it lit on the roof of his mouth. With all the journals stacked on top one
another, Bill dropped the lit match and watched the books burn.
Mason was near tears. “What is it, then, you wanted to give me?” he sputtered.
Bill opened the window of the boy’s room, the very top story of the house. “A
grand finale,” he laughed, before throwing himself to the ground outside.
***** Sickness *****
“Oh, jeez, Rick - how fast is this thing going?”
Rick groaned in annoyance. “Pretty fuckin’ fast, Morty,”
The boy bit his lip, his head spinning. He had no idea why his grandpa was
driving this fast; the spaceship was usually fast on a normal day, but even
this was above and beyond. Maybe Rick was just drunk.
Then again, Rick was always drunk.
“Rick, I don’t feel so good,”
The old man had to hold himself together. He was already trying to repress some
feelings for his grandson, and if he saw him puke, he didn’t know how much more
he could take.
“Just take it easy, Morty,” he said, trying to be gentle. “We’ll be home soon.”
The young teen doubled over, holding his stomach. “I dunno if I can make it
till then,” he panicked.
Morty felt a warm mass of saliva well up under his tongue. That was usually the
only warning anyone ever got that they’d hit the point of no return. He
swallowed it, shutting his eyes, breathing deep, trying to clear his mind of
everything except not throwing up in front of Rick.
Rick himself was doing everything he could to not say anything, afraid he’d say
too much.
Despite the effort, the contents of his stomach rose to his throat, and spilled
past his lips. The sound of the vomit splattering against the floor of the ship
made Rick’s toes curl inside his shoes. He held his breath, not out of fear of
the putrid smell, but only to keep his composure.
He tried to keep his eyes on the road, so to speak, and only there. He didn’t
want to see anything that was going on.
But against his own will he did sneak a glance, peeking to the side to get an
eyeful of the situation. Morty had made a mess all over his shirt as well as
the floor, still blowing chunks and getting a good mess of it down his chin.
Rick tried to only look for a second but couldn’t take his eyes off his carsick
grandson. His blood pooled between his legs and he swallowed hard, and erection
rising against his seatbelt.
***** Distorted Body/Broken Bone *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Dipper,” Mabel cried, “isn’t there something in the journal about defeating
zombies?”
The two were in a bad state of panic, being ambushed by a pack of the undead.
“No,” he retorted, “there’s nothing in here about weaknesses,”
Zombies continued to circle in from almost every direction, giving them nowhere
to run.
“This can’t be happening,” he said to himself more than anyone else. “I wanted
answers so bad I put everyone in danger. Now we’re toast, it’s all my fault,
and no one can save us,”
Just then one of the zombies grabbed Dipper by the wrist and yanked him up. He
panicked and yelled in protest but kept being pulled upward.
“Mabel, I’m sorry,” he cried out over his sister screaming.
“Dipper!” she screamed. Her brother was now wailing, face to face with the
zombie.
The monster flung the boy in his grasp against the nearest wall. He collided
with it at full force, the impact making a sickening thud. Dipper could’ve
sworn he heard several bones cracking.
Though he was still in shock, when he finally looked to see what’d happened to
his body, he wanted to scream. His legs were bent and twisted in ways he never
thought he’d see, brutally crushed and mangled before him.
His legs weren’t the only bones broken, either. His skull shattered from the
force, and he could tell, his vision going red before he blacked out.
Chapter End Notes
     speaking of zombies, there was a zombie-themed halloween dance at my
     school the other night. it was totally go big or go home, and it was
     an absolute gorefest. it was some of the most fun i've had.
***** Stitching *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Am I gonna be okay?”
“You’re gonna be just fine,” Ford reassured, chuckling softly.
“It’s bleeding a lot.”
Dipper’s uncle dabbed the wound with a rag. “It won’t be for very much longer.”
Ford rolled his chair back to a drawer and pulled out suture thread and a
needle.
“You’re gonna stitch me up?” Dipper asked, half-nervous and half-excited.
“Mm-hmm,” Ford nodded, smiling faintly. “Your shirt’s already pretty bloody,
and I don’t want to accidently stitch through it, so you should probably take
it off,”
Dipper welled up with anticipation. He fantasized quite often about undressing
in front of his uncle, but he never thought it’d be under these circumstances.
Then again, a situation like this made much more sense than the ones in his
head.
The only thing he had to say in protest was, “But I’m trans.”
Ford simply laughed. “I know that, Dipper. Stan and your sister told me.”
Dipper looked at him, wordless and mouth agape. “You aren’t mad or anything?”
“Why would I be?” he smiled. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my day, Dipper. This
doesn’t shock me at all--trans people exist. It’s part of life. Now take your
shirt off, please, I don’t want you to lose anymore blood.”
The teen did as told. “What about--?” he vaguely asked, gesturing to his
binder.
“That too,” Ford said, nodding. “Wearing it already increases the risk of
injury to your ribs, combine that with the current situation and there’s only
so much more danger. If you wouldn’t mind,”
Dipper nodded, starting to pull it off. He felt nervous about the Author seeing
his breasts but tried to play it cool. He winced, however, when he lifted his
arms. “Hurts,” he moaned.
“Here,” Ford offered, gently pulling the binder off himself. Dipper shivered
despite himself, the feeling of his uncle’s big, warm fingertips against his
skin making his hair stand on end.
It was much more intimate than it should’ve been, and Dipper both cursed
himself for feeling aroused and praised whatever god existed that he wasn’t
able to pop a boner.
The wet warmth in the crotch of his boxer briefs wasn’t too comfortable,
though.
After threading the needle, Ford pressed it to his nephew’s skin. “Ready?”
Dipper took a deep, husky breath. “Ready.”
He pushed the needle through and took it from the other side, looping it and
repeating the process. Like stitching in general, it was a very repetitive
series of motions. That didn’t stop the tickling against Dipper’s skin from
feeling orgasmic.
That and the cold air on his exposed chest. It felt naked and raw and intimate.
His nipples hardened and he gushed between his legs. His slit tingled and he
felt this push and everything he wanted was for the Author’s fingers to graze
over his breasts, squeeze them and play with them.
Dipper had to bite back a moan.
He was visibly enjoying this, much to his dismay. Ford could clearly see the
sheen of sweat across the fifteen-year-old’s face, his eyes half-lidded and his
lip bitten in a wanton smile. He almost looked like he was puffing his chest
out, almost begging for his uncle to touch him there.
Ford just rolled his eyes, groaning in fake exasperation.
Chapter End Notes
     i'm almost in college, i'm way too old to go trick-or-treating.
     anyway, happy halloween. *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
***** Excessive Gashes + Torture *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Morty and Summer Smith were Rick’s sex slaves. Rick’s property.
He sits at his throne, his two little pets at his sides, naked except for their
harnesses and leashes. Rick smooths his palms down his pets’ hair, patting
their backs with his cold hands.
“Daddy’s got a new job for you today.”
Rick gets off his throne and kneels in front if it, tapping his thigh for his
pretty little pets to approach him. He pulls out a sleek, sexy looking knife
that glimmers in the faint basement light.
“Which one of you wants to be cut up first?”
Summer perks her head up first, eager to please her master. “I do, Master,”
Rick smirks evilly. “Good girl, Summer. Kneel for daddy,”
The girl does as told, her hands up at her chest like a cat. She tips her head
up, giving her master full access to her naked throat.
The man teases her with the blade first, grazing it lightly over the supple
skin of her throat, pressing just enough for her to feel it but not enough for
it to pierce the skin.
He taps it to the top of her throat, warning her generously before pushing it
in and pulling the knife down, cutting her windpipe open and exposing it ever
so beautifully. Rick pushes two fingers into the girl’s straining throat. She
struggles to keep herself upright.
“You want a go next, Morty?”
The boy nods fearfully, with no other choice.
He crawls slowly up to his master, on all fours. Rick instructs him to kneel,
just as his sister did, and he does just that. This time, Rick, presses the
blade to his chest. Instead of cutting deep, he makes light, pretty incisions
all across his breast. The vertical pattern drips blood all the way down the
boy’s soft stomach.
Rick drags two fingers across the fresh cuts and holds them up to his pet.
“Lick them clean.”
Morty whimpers and leans in, taking the long bony fingers into his mouth and
sucking the blood off of them. His master nods in approval.
Summer’s suffocating, withering body bleeds out on the floor, tears leaking
from the empty eyes.
“You see your sister?”
Morty nods.
“Pick up her body and fuck her throat.”
He hesitates for a second, then does as told, not wanting to meet the same fate
as Rick’s other pet. It takes a second for him to get it up, but once he does,
he presses the tip to the dead body’s lips.
“No you don’t,” Rick snaps. “Her throat.”
Morty stammers for just a moment, then swallows his fear. He presses the tip of
his swollen cock to his sister’s slit throat. He moans in agony and disgust but
closes his eyes, which are now welling with tears, and thrusts into the warm,
bloody gash.
Once he starts he can’t stop. It’s so warm.
He thrusts in harder, faster, already so close to cumming; so engulfed in
sensation.
“Good boy,” Rick praises.
That’s all it takes to push him over the edge. He pulls on his sister’s hair
and forces her wound down on his dick, fucking into it forcefully, grunting and
whining loudly as he does so.
“Oh, oh,”
Just then, Rick rips the body away from his pet, leaving him to sob at the
ruined orgasm.
“You don’t cum until I tell you to.”
Morty starts crying.
“Lie down,” his master orders.
The boy does as told.
Rick teases Morty’s skin with a new knife. He drags it lightly across his
chest, circling his nipples and pressing against the drying wounds. Morty moans
in pain and need to cum.
“Hold still.”
Abruptly, the old man plunges the knife into his pet’s chest. Morty cries out
in agony, his wail echoing in the desolate basement.
He’s voiceless now, hot tears falling down the side of his face.
Rick starts to jerk the dying boy’s straining cock. “You can cum now.”
He sobs in pain and the knowledge that these are his last moments. He lets it
resolve in the fact that he’ll be spending his last moments pleasing his
master.
“Yes, Master,” he barely breathes, before convulsing and cumming all over
himself.
“Good boy.”
Chapter End Notes
     that wraps up this month-long challenge!
     this was very time-consuming and after a while, exhausting, but it
     was fun nonetheless - so i'd say it's worth it. this month was pretty
     fruitful in terms of content, but i'm definitely gonna be slowing it
     down come november.
     that's not to say i won't be producing fic anymore, it just won't be
     as frequent as it's been this month. i've already got a multi-
     chaptered fic in the works, and a few one-shots, but they'll be a lot
     more spread out.
     thank you all for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting on this, as
     well as my other fics! it really does mean a lot, knowing that i have
     people who read my works, and it gives me a reason to keep writing
     all this sinful garbage.
     happy halloween to all--i hope everyone had a great october! i know i
     did. signing off.
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