Enter At Your Own Risk

Hello and welcome to my blog! The title is “Dead Dove,” but this is actually my NSFW blog. I post toxic ships, gore, and other darker content that I don’t feel comfortable putting on my SFW side blogs.

You can find the tag navigation for this blog below the cut.

“How do you know I message people on—” He shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “Whatever. I’m not stupid, Rick, I know we can’t tell anyone. But… why can’t we do it again? We both liked it, right?”

Rick’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Because I don’t think you were a good enough lay to do sloppy seconds, Morty. And because this is a gross, perverted, fucked up thing to do and, unlike you apparently, I’m not into incest.”

Morty scowled at him. “You say that, but—”

“But nothing, Morty. Y-y-you think what we have is special, but it’s not. It’s happening an infinite amount of times across an infinite number of dimensions, and the only people who tie themselves down are either losers or pussies, and I am neither.”

“Is that what you said to get your wife to marry you?” Morty grumbled, slumping down into his seat.

“What the fuck did you just say to me, you little bitch?”

Morty didn’t repeat himself, just glared at Rick as though challenging him. Damn, when had Rick lost control of this dynamic? Where was all this self-confidence coming from? He must not be keeping a tight enough grip on Morty’s proverbial leash.

“When did you become such an asshole?”

“The day you showed up in my life, Rick. You really have a way of rubbing off on others.”

“Oh, are you gonna pout, Morty? Because you can’t fuck your grandpa again? How sad for you, how tragic. Really. W-wait, I might have the materials to make the world’s smallest violin around her somewhere.” He started rummaging around with his free hand for show, just to piss Morty off.

All the breath in Rick’s lungs was punched out of his by the sight of it. Gorgeous, he thought. He squeezed his eyes shut and threaded his fingers through Morty’s hair, bringing him close enough that Rick could press his lips to the top of his head. I’m going to ruin you.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to cry. Over a Morty, no less. When had he sunk so low that he’d cry over a Morty? When had he become so lonely and pathetic that he’d have sex with his own grandson.