#it's for goretober lmao

[k-0re]

goretober 2. bloodspill

[valeriapryanikova]

goretober 20 : irradiated

[toffeebrews]

Goretober: Day 7- Carving

based off this post

[0m3n-0f-d3ath]

There is something rotting inside of you

Goretober day one: Rotting

[rotworld]

31: Dark and Stormy Night

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

he comes when the storm does, every bit as furiously, dangerously passionate. he leaves when it dissipates, but he dreams of the day you'll never have to be apart again.

->original work. explicit; contains mild/brief gore, ambiguous consent, manipulation, possessive/controlling behavior.

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You’re not home yet when the rain starts and that makes you nervous. Soft trickle to light percussion to hissing downpour, it carves space for itself in concrete dents and potholes, making rippling mirrors of the dark, lightning-threaded sky. You brought an umbrella but a trailing puddle still follows you down the store aisles like liquid shadow. His footsteps are waterlogged. Damp and heavy, like a shoe sinking into lake mud. You won’t see him if you look back but you’ll catch glimpses in the glass of the deli case when you pass by. Limp, sodden hair, stormy black. Eyes bright like lightning.

The cashier at the front tries to make conversation. You feel guilty about your curt, one-word answers and wandering gaze, trying to look busy and uninterested, but it’s for their own good. He’s right behind you. You feel his damp breath on your neck and the creeping sensation of fingers dragging down your back like cool, trickling water. He gets jealous easily. You paid someone too much attention at the bus stop once, an old work colleague who wanted to catch up, and static crackled startled to crackle on your skin. There was a moment of blinding brightness and flashing heat and smoke, singing, the sizzling stench of burned meat.

She was struck by lightning right in front of you. Not once, not twice, but five times. Dead before she even hit the ground. 

The ride home is excruciating. You watch the wind whip the trees and hear the thunder grow from a distant grumble to a deafening roar. Silvery threads of lightning baste through the clouds in split-second flashes. The seat next to yours is empty. People avoid it because it’s soaked through, rainwater dripping steadily to the floor. It doesn’t puddle where it falls or roll with the movement of the bus. It slides over to you, gathering beneath your feet.

He used to wait for you. You’d come home to find him standing outside, or see his palms pressed against your windows. Time and frustration have eroded his patience. Now he’s everywhere you are once the rain falls and the wind howls, a phantom only you can see. He follows you off the bus, a second set of footsteps splashing behind you. He hovers when you fumble with your keys, palms pressed on either side of you.

“Hurry,” he whispers. “I can’t have you for long.” 

Your lover is frantic when he finally has you all to himself. Here, behind closed doors, he becomes something you can touch. No longer a wisping, dripping thing, he is human or something like it, all the fury and beauty of a storm condensed into flesh and bone. He kisses you hungrily, touches you greedily, writhes against you with passion that has been building for weeks. Deft fingers undo buttons and zippers, stripping you of everything that keeps him from your bare skin.

“I’ve missed you,” he sighs against your mouth. His hands smooth up your body, palming your flesh with awe and desire. “I always miss you. I wish I could stay.” 

You don’t know what he is, where he comes from. You have so little time together and he doesn’t like to waste it on speaking. “I’m what the rain and thunder brings,” he told you once. He loves like the storms he follows, quick and furious and gone again too soon, touching you like he might never get the chance again. 

He wants the curtains drawn, the blinds open. Is he really here, you wonder, or is he out there looking in? He leaves the lights off, everything in darkness until lightning lances the night. The shadows in your room look like storm clouds, churning, streaming past. He wants you under him tonight, kissing down your stomach and spreading your legs apart with his hands. His mouth between your thighs makes you tremble in his grasp.

He doesn’t have the patience for foreplay. Gentle kisses become hungry nips and greedy, ravenous suckling against your sensitive flesh, his grip hard enough to bruise. Your heart flutters in anticipation when he climbs over you instead, slotting your hips together, a hand on his length to guide himself to your entrance. He likes that you enjoy this, that your back arches and your hips buck to accept him and his roughness, his abrasive need. His pace steals your breath.

Thunder rattles across the roof and shakes the windows as he fucks you into the mattress. Nothing he does is enough. He’s always hungrier, always needier. The closeness, chest to chest when he lays over you with your legs wrapped around his waist, doesn’t satisfy him. He ruts into you like he hopes the two of you will meld together and never have to part again, hard and deep and never stopping. Every off-beat, the brief withdraw before he slams into you again, is shorter than the last. He doesn’t want to leave the tight warmth of your body. He’d keep you here forever if he could, eternally enraptured and full of him. 

“Would you come with me?” he asks. A rare question, murmured between labored breaths and moans. “If you could, would you? If we never had to be apart?” 

He scares you. The intensity of his feelings leaves you feeling bruised all the way down to your heart. How else can a storm love than with this all-encompassing, drowning viciousness? He arches over you, presses your bodies together and pumps his hips even faster. The sound of flesh against flesh is loud but not as loud as the rumbling of the sky and the screaming wind. He wants forever. All of him, for all of time. You don’t mean to say yes but his excitement is infectious. His eagerness and unending appetite gets inside you like the rain fills the city’s empty spaces, how it leaves itself behind in puddles and dampness even when the wind stops blowing. 

“I have so much more to give you. Don’t you want that? All of me? Everything I am, just for you?”

You would say anything as long as it keeps him here, pinning you down with his hands and his body and his powerful thrusts. You whine when he withdraws just long enough to shove you onto your stomach, to drape himself along your back and push back inside. Your mind is empty but your body is full as he ruts and grinds into you, whispering temptations in your ear. He was lonely, so lonely, until he saw you. The waiting, the long dry spells in between, haunt him. All he can think about is coming back to you. Touching you. Tasting you. Feeling your body against his. He would stay forever if he could, and don’t you want that? His hands and his mouth and his cock pleasing you? Don’t you want even more? 

“Just one more step,” he moans. “One more. Come to me. One more step and we will never be apart.” His pace slows suddenly and you whimper, pushing back against him. But he’s waning, his movements losing their frantic passion. He thrusts weakly, his breathing soft. You can’t hear the thunder anymore, you realize, or the wind. Just rain in whispered droplets. Something cold lands on your face.

You look up into a gray sky. You stumble, your feet bare and cold and coated in mud. You’re not in bed anymore. You’re outside, catching yourself in the wet grass. You feel feverish and exhausted, your hot skin soothed by the last gasps of wind and gentle rain. Trees sway. Water rushes. You’re not home or anywhere near it. How did you get here? And when? You shiver. Your clothes are heavy with rain, sticking to your skin. You feel lightheaded. Your hands are stuck in cold, wet mud. Your heart skips a beat. 

There’s a river in front of you. Right in front of you. Swollen from the storm and fast-flowing, it could easily sweep you under and dash you against the rocks. If you’d gone even a step further, you would’ve fallen right in. One of your hands is pressed against the sloping back, tangled in grass. Down among the foam-capped ripples and surging waves, you see your frightened reflection staring back at you. 

And him, right behind you. Storm-haired and lightning-eyed, leering at you. From the water? Beneath it? From some other place, peering through? His gaze is cold and furious but you see him breathe deeply, bony shoulders rising and falling. An eager smile stretches across his face.

The next storm will be the worst one.

[ohnoitsz1m]

Goretober Day 1 - Triage

Bit overly ambitious but at this point we’re used to that lol

Anyways YAYYY ITS FURRY VICTOR I DREW HIM AGAIN YAYYYYY

Background is just a painted over screenshot because i did not have time to draw that whole mess

Shitpost doodles under the cut, cw for vomiting

[confusion-est]

Day 1 - Cannibalism Yeah it's 30 minutes till midnight, literally first prompt and I'm already struggling bruv...

[your-ne1ghbor]

Just gonna drop this and run away🏃‍♂️💨

(GONE OUT, WATCH HER PLEASE -THOMAS)

@signed-sapphire @rascalentertainments @oh-shtars

@spectator-zee @chillwildwave @uva124

@tumblingdownthefoxden @dangerousflowerpanda

[roach-master]

oc art ig 🫡

[fishcop]

goretober day 1: disembowlment

Ft the most real rockstar ever

[valeriapryanikova]

goretober 25 : monster | hermithorrorweek 3 : chase

[iolite-flames]

HERES TO PROMPT NUMBER 4!!!! Much brighter this go around, but i dont mind :D

The prompt is Execution!

[girlboydoppio]

[0m3n-0f-d3ath]

You’d be surprised how many recipes call for a rabbit sacrifice

Witchtober day four: Rabbit

Goretober day three: Gashes

[salsacanibal]

GORETOBER24 DAY 4!!

Today's prompt was...

GUT SPILL.

idk man. Prompts by xxanemia, check em out if u don't mind guro art :3

[redbeancarp]

hey, you did you catch performing arts, today?

insta | prints