Hello everyone! Its summer again, and I’ve got another prompt list for any writers out there that wanna practice their gore/guro/horror! Any other artists are free to participate or use this list if they’d like, but the point is to get more dark writing out there! ^-^ Use ‘em however you want, substitute out anything you don’t like, and feel free to use them to take requests from followers (that’s why the letters are there ;> ). Happy writing!
*General violence/blood/gore trigger warning*
A/1: Found 'em like this.
B/2: Never thought this would be how it ended...
C/3: Paralyzed, but aware.
D/4: Following a trail of blood
E/5: Something's wrong... on the inside.
F/6: Blinded
G/7: Only dead for a few seconds.
H/8: Public execution
I/9: It started with a headache...
J/10: Crawled all the way here.
K/11: Head trauma
L/12: Who could possibly smile through this!?
M/13: Sewed up
N/14: C'mon, we can make it to the hospital!
O/15: Bound dinner companion
P/16: Rain and blood
Q/17: When you have parasites, you're never alone
R/18: Too terrified to help
S/19: Fresh wounds are warm...
T/20: Pinned to the floor
U/21: Finally still.
V/22: Surgery isn't clean in the field...
W/23: Confusion is a symptom of major blood loss.
X/24: Blood on teeth
Y/25: The experiment went well... if you ignore the subject's discomfort
Z/26: I deserve it...
!/27: Please! You have to stop!!
?/28: Is it self inflicted if you aren't in control?
+/29: Under the skin
-/30: Poisoned
=/31: Are those... tears?
I made this challenge on my old blog but I thought I should post it in this one. Aaaand since it’s october the 1st, here you go! (please tag your creations so I can peek!) - I changed some and added a 31st. Feel free to not do them all to alter them as you wish.
(note: doesn’t have to be ocs, can be any kind of character btw!)
[general trigger warning for the following list!!!]
1- Drowning
2- While being really happy and Nothing Can Go Wrong
3- Swords (or other blade weapons)
4- Guns or firearms in general (ranged weapons depending on the universe)
5- Natural Death
6- Wounds
7- Illness
8- Death sentence
9- Explosion
10- By the hands of a friend/love interest
11- Falling from a high place (building, cliff.etc.)
12- Poison
13- Cause of death unclear/supernatural/left for the reader to interpret
14- Torture
15- Self-sacrifice
16- Wild animals
17- While imprisoned/chained/trapped in a reduced space
18- In the middle of a battle
19- Duel
20- Frozen to death/hypothermia
21- Just the opposite, burning to death
22- Starving to death
23- Trapped under rocks/a column/etc
24- Exhaustion (interpret this as you see fit)
25- Hanged
26- After writing a goodbye note (not necessarily suicide, can be going into battle/a dangerous situation.etc.)
27- Caused by their worst fear/phobia or because of it, or implying it
28- Death in a nightmare
29- A coward’s death
30- Fake death (coming back scene optional)
31- Wild card: uncommon/wacky death or author’s choice!
The silence dragged on as your assailant stared at you, body seemingly frozen in place as they tried to wrap their head around what they were seeing.
Poking gingerly at the knife buried in your chest, you silently marvelled at just how strong your attacker was. It took a lot of force to shove a knife through bone, and they had definitely done that, seemingly with ease too. It was going to be a bitch to pull back out.
Looking back up at them, you saw them standing there still unresponsive, most likely staring at the growing pool of blood and the knife buried in your heart with a mix between shock and horror. It was quite painful, but you had gotten use to pain by this point honestly. It was more an annoyance than anything else.
Letting out a soft embarrassed laugh, you finally spoke up, picking at your rapidly soaking shirt.
Your back has been aching for weeks now, every movement sending jolts of pain through your nerves. This morning as you slowly and gingerly get out of bed, you can feel your whole back throbbing. Though you want to sleep longer, you know you have to make something to eat, as there isn’t really anyone else around to do it. Hesitantly, you press your hand to your back, swallowing thickly as you find your skin incredibly hot to the touch, noting some swelling as well.
Deciding on a nice cold shower, you shakily stand and begin hobbling to the bathroom. After barely five steps, your vision suddenly whites with agony. Screaming out, you fall to your hands and knees, clutching at the floor with a white knuckled grip. There’s a sickening ripping sound, followed by a few wet thumps, and you feel something hot and wet splatter all over you.
You’re still in pain, but there’s some relief now, as if a pressure has been released. Shakily you lift your head, eyes widening in horror at the display of gore that now covers the room. You just barely register something soaked in blood, arching out to the side from your back, before you pass out, the ordeal simply too much for you to handle.
alrighty, here’s a thing with Kenji. Feedback is welcome bc I had not thought this out very well and I don’t write that much aaaaa
I had to do something. I didn’t want to just let them sit there all… intact. Fresh. Unconscious from the dinner I prepared. It wasn’t that satisfying to cut them up while they weren’t awake to witness it, but not resistant enough to make me annoyed. I’d just have to wait, so I watched them, crouched down in front of them with my head against their knee, looking up at their peaceful, pretty face as I thought about how long it took to make them trust me. I ran the tip of my knife over their other knee, just cutting through the fabric.
But I cut deeper, making it bleed.
They woke up.
Hey there, Ive been thinking about this for awhile and since its literally just about October, I wanted to make my own goretober prompt list. There are various things that interest me and this is a mish mash of them~
Feel free to use! If you do, please use #hardkandy goretober so I can see!
Day 1: crystals
Day 2: mushrooms/fungus
Day 3: dissection
Day 4: displayed
Day 5: insects/slugs/snails
Day 6: candy/glitter
Day 7: slime/mucous
Day 8: fruit slice
Day 9: bruises
Day 10: bones
Day 11: horns/spikes
Day 12: body growth/mutation
Day 13: teeth
Day 14: doll/puppet
Day 15: string/strung up
Day 16: surgery
Day 17: sushi/food display
Day 18: neck trauma
Day 19: stabbed
Day 20: cannibalism
Day 21: fog/smoke
Day 22: frankenstein
Day 23: hooks
Day 24: dessert
Day 25: limb separation
Day 26: gut spillage
Day 27: barbed wire
Day 28: melting
Day 29: glass
Day 30: burns
Day 31: jack O lantern
Bonus if you finished every day: do a two number random generator 1-31 and draw the two prompts together.
Hey all! Although I’d kept the goretober list the same the past couple years, I thought it’d be nice to update it this year! You’re still free to use the old prompt list though, as it’s a bit more generic than this one (and I tried to avoid major squicks this time).
Rules + FAQ
Feel free to skip or replace anything that’ll squick you.
Tag #goretober (and probably #nsfw #gore and #blood as appropriate, for your viewers’ sake) so others can view your art! Please be mindful of triggers, nudity, phobias, etc.
You can start mid-challenge. If you do, you can either start from the beginning or start at the current prompts.
Fingers plunge into Tomura’s eyes and he knows this isn’t real, none of this is real, but an image of a smiling face burns into his mind before his vision goes black and he can feel the blood trickling out of his eye sockets and down his face like tears. Only his right eye has been destroyed, unable to handle the nail pressing into it and it bursts, from there the finger wiggles to stir up the eye until it’s nothing but mush, caressing the inner wall of his eye socket. His other eye has survived as it has squished out of the way of the invading finger and he can feel that too as it follows the contours of the back of his eye. It’s not painful, not like his other eye being blended and stabbed and destroyed, but it’s close to being one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life.
Perhaps he picked a fight with someone he shouldn’t, Izuku things as he heaves into the toilet. Maybe someone with a powerful quirk was pissed off at him for whatever reason, it wouldn’t be the first time, and decided to make him pay.
Izuku’s smart enough to know neither is true. He wishes for ignorance. It’s as clear as day that Kurogiri put something into the cheese and broccoli soup he had made Izuku earlier that day and now Izuku was suffering the consequences. Kurogiri is a Villain, a very cruel one at that, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that he would do something like this to a weak, quirkless kid, but yet again, Izuku is smart enough to know that’s not the case. Kurogiri doesn’t particularly like Izuku the same way a dog doesn’t particularly like a tick but Kurogiri has never before attempted to get rid of Izuku and there are so many easier ways.
Kurogiri’s warp quirk is fabulous. He could have just sent Izuku somewhere he’d never be found. Poison is uncharacteristic of him. Kurogiri doesn’t act on his own, either; he has fully accepted his role as a decisive pawn in the game of life and he only took orders from Tomura and All For One.
The thought of Tomura trying to kill Izuku isn’t quite a surprising one but yet again, Tomura would use a different method. He’s always loved putting his hands on Izuku’s bare skin, the threat of pain and death obvious with a twitch of his fingers. Izuku has grown to enjoy the thrill knowing his life is literally in Tomura’s hands.
“That doesn’t look so good, Boss,” Dabi jabs a finger into one of the massive red blisters jutting out of Tomura’s body. “An allergic reaction?”
“No, no!” Himiko bounces on the balls of her feet, the phone in her hand snapping away as she takes pictures. Blackmail material for the next time Tomura goes into a fit when he sees pictures of Stain on the bar’s walls. “I bet this is a quirk gone wrong. Pick a fight with someone stronger than you Shigaraki? No matter, my blades will slice those right off and you’ll be as good as new. Well, you’re still not going to be very pretty…”
Tomura lunges at both of them with outstretched fingers but he’s sluggish from the pain and they’re too familiar with his usual movements to get in his way. “Don’t you two have work to be doing?” Tomura has to keep the pain out of his voice but it’s difficult. He’s already had to stumble his way over here after the fight, not willing to risk Kurogiri’s mockery for having to call for help. “Find something more useful to do before I break you!”
Izuku knows he shouldn’t have come but he can’t just ignore a cry for help, even if the sender is the second most evil person he knows. Perhaps once he would have tried to reason with himself that Shigaraki was being manipulated or that he just needs to be shown the light so he can become a good person. Izuku no longer holds any hope for such childish dreams. Shigaraki is a murderer who enjoys spreading agony and misery.
That knowledge doesn’t stop Izuku from wanting to help Shigaraki. He’ll go to the place listed in the note he received, save and/or kick Shigaraki’s ass, and then drag him to prison where he’ll spend the rest of his life. It’s not very kind, but this way Izuku will save Shigaraki from death or worse. And it will get him out of Izuku’s way and there will be one less member of the League frolicking out in the city streets.
The address he was given leads to an old building. It’s not abandoned or particularly decrepit and he thinks it’s an apartment that’s still in use. A key to the front door is hidden in a potted plant just like the note had promised.
For not the first time this day, Izuku considers the possibility that this is a trap. The chances are 99 to 1 that he will have to fight his way out but the temptation is too great for him to simply ignore. A certain vigilante has captured Shigaraki and thought it was fit that the Number 1 Hero’s protégé be the one to bring him in. Izuku isn’t the only one harshly affected by All Might’s death, it would seem. To think someone would go as far as to give him a Villain on a silver platter is… insane. Insane and yet Izuku hopes with all of his might that this is real
He stays on alert as he navigates to the stairwell. The aim is for the fourth-floor meaning that he can be attacked from both above and below. Three flights of stairs and then all he has left is a hallway and a single door.
Izuku thought he was prepared for this. In a way, he was. He’s seen blood before, he’s heard screams. The concept of death was easy to understand. This is all a part of life and it’s necessary.
Even still, the crack of the man’s skull as it hits the paved sidewalk echoes in his mind. When he closes his eyes, all he can see is the horror in his teacher’s face the moment he knows he is going to die and then the way his eyes go lifeless.
Izuku pitches forward to lean against a building in the alley and retches. The bile that rises to his mouth as he purges his stomach contents is nothing compared to the nausea that consumes him. He did this. He really did this. He wishes he was weaker and fainted at the dead body but no, he must suffer through with the consequences of his actions.
He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Tomura places a hand on his back. Izuku spits out what he can and then pushes off the wall into Tomura’s waiting arms. Tomura engulfs him in a hug, whispering, “You did so good, I’m so proud of you, thank you for doing this for me.”
“I’m sorry I’m so weak,” Izuku mumbles. He can’t bear to turn around and look at the exploits of his hard work so instead, he just stares at his sick puddled on the sidewalk. “I should be able to handle this after everything you and Sensei have taught me.” A lifetime ago, he would have feared that Tomura would mistake his words for him fishing for compliments, but a thought like that is trivial compared to what he’s facing.
Izuku has a crush. It’s not the act of having a crush that’s bad per say, but rather who it involves. All Might? Problematic due to age differences but ultimately impossible since Izuku is a no-good quirkless loser. Uraraka? She’s destined for greatness; Izuku would just hold her back. Todoroki? He doesn’t even know that Izuku exists.
This is okay. After all, Izuku is little more than a parasite living off of everyone else’s merits. He doesn’t deserve recognition or attention. It would be selfish of him to ask for love back. Kacchan was right when he said Izuku should have an honorable death.
Instead, Izuku selfishly clings onto hope, even though this means that his mother is worked to the bone trying to provide for the both of them and he is obligated to use up resources that some other quirk bestowed child could be using in his place.
Izuku has already accepted that he will be a parasite for the rest of his life. This is okay, really it is. He has no future except to be a fanboy with a minimum wage job he’s only gotten out of pity.
Itchy was led from the tiny room, "good," he thought. The stark white walls had begun to hurt his eyes, and he had to blink rapidly to adjust as he was walked down a long dark flight of stairs and eventually shoved through a stone doorway, the heavy wooden door slamming behind him. He winced a bit at the sound, but was quickly distracted from it by the noises that replaced it and the accompanying sights.
Before him, far to the other wall, hung his mother, her eyes hidden by her short blonde curls, her teeth gritted, and her breath coming out in loud, short puffs. Confused for just a second, Itchy tensed as he saw how she hung by the wall; huge metal stakes had been driven through her hands, shoulders, and feet. The blood, he noticed, flowed down the wall in streams, a frighteningly-sized pool forming beneath her.
Itchy took everything in in mere seconds. He ran forward, screaming for his mother. Just as he saw her jerk her head up, he felt arms grab him roughly, around his arms, chest. "NO, MOM WHATS GOING ON?!" tears formed in his eyes as he watched his mother's face, falling quickly from surprise to... was that sadness? Or fear?
"This... This isn't fair," his mother turned her gaze from him to look into a dark corner. Itchy instinctively followed her gaze to see a tall figure, wrapped in a cloak that was somehow darker than the shadows around it.
"We are merely trying to save your eternal soul," a woman's voice emitted from the figure, which stepped forward until it was right in front of his mother. "It really matters not what happens to the mortal body when we are here."
His mother winced as she attempted to lean towards the figure, "But my son, there's... no need to bring him into this."
"Oh but there is." He couldn't see her face, but Itchy knew the woman beneath the robes was looking in his direction. "It is one thing to damn yourself, to actively work towards the damnation of others... but to lead a child to hell..." the figure shook her head. "There's no cost too high to save his pure soul."
"Lier," Itchy's mother growled. "Let him go!" At this, the figure simply turned. "Wait," his mother whispered after the figure, which grabbed something from the shadows behind her. "No wait, please don't hurt him..." Her face had fallen, her voice changed from angry and strong, to submissive and scared. The figure ignored her pleas and began walking toward where Itchy was still being held.
His mother shifted her eyes to Itchy again, at last. Itchy saw pure fear there. "Itchy no, please no," she said, still begging the approaching figure. "Please, he hasn't done anything he's not a part of this! Please!"
His vision darkened, and Itchy tore his gaze from his mother to look directly in front of him. Now back-lit, the figure was even more like a living shadow. Though he had been halted from going forward, Itchy now found the holds on him prevented him from going backward as well. Before he could realize much else, he was man-handled to the ground, his knees under him, his arms held individually with his right hand outstretched, touching the ground. Suddenly, he felt a prick of cold on the back of it, and looked down to see a huge metal stake, the same kind that held his mother, positioned over-top his hand. "Ahh, mom!" Itchy looked up frantically. His mother was staring at him, her eyes wide; in his peripheral vision, he could just see the shadowy figure slowly retracing steps back towards her.
"What's your answer?" the figure's words seemed to echo throughout the chamber.
Itchy could do nothing but stare intently at the stake still held in place on his hand, his breathing quickening and sweat appearing on his forehead. He tensed however, as he saw the sledge hammer emerge into his line of sight.
"No, please don't do this!" he heard his mother scream, just before the world fell silent. The hammer was raised and though it seemed in slow-motion, in no time at all, fell with a heavy ringing to the stake. Itchy saw it before he felt it, the metal driven deep though his hand, through it, to the floor, blood splashed out, and began seeping from beneath the stake. At last, he heard sound return to the room just as the pain began: a deep pain he had never experienced. His eyes dilated and he screamed, horrified, unable to tear his gaze from his hand. He felt his heartbeat in the fresh wound, practically felt each glob of blood leave him through the hole. Emptying his lungs, Itchy gasped for breath as he struggled against the hands holding him, at first he tried to tug at the stake, tried to get it out. No, it was there for good, his instincts were at a loss and he resigned himself to the pain, tears streaming from his eyes as each short breath was accompanied by a moan, a scream, a yelp, a cry.
Though he couldn't notice, Itchy's mother had also begun to cry. "No, please stop this," she whispered first, her eyes locked on her son. Then her voice found its strength once more, "Please whatever you want! whatever you want to hear! Please!!"
The figure's form seemed to stiffen, she whispered something, right in front of Itchy's mother's face. Her eyes were wild. "Yes, yes whatever! I admit all my sins!" She yelled, though she seemed nearly to pass out with this effort. Although quieter following this, her voice was no less urgent. "I want to recieve the devine gift of the spirits I recount everything, please!" She spoke to the figure, but her gaze, still that mix of sad and scared, was locked on Itchy. "Please I want to be saved! Please I take full responsability I, I take responsablitity for the damnation of everyone!" The figure nodded.
Itchy had taken to a kind of growl breathing, his each continued consciousness a difficult labor. Despite this struggle, he felt something odd... something besides sharp pain in his hand... He felt a dull pain run through him... he felt something like... something that was too big to contain in his arteries and veins. The feeling traveled from the base of his neck, to all his surrounding bones and organs. What in the world was this?? In spite of his situation, Itchy found that this feeling gave him a sense of... power. He could work with this feeling... he could make sure this never happened to him again... he would never be this low agai- A completely different type of pain hit him at that moment... head... his sinuses? He couldn't pinpoint it, but his vision immediately began to blur and he felt himself falling. On his way to the ground, he saw the figure slit his mother's throat, and then nothing more.
Mizzah fell to his knees, then flumped to the ground in a cloud of dust. After a few seconds of silence, he heard Azekah's voice. "Mizzah... I'm sorry I'll be right back, I've gotta go take care of this!" she said softly but urgently. Mizzah could not reply, but he hoped she knew that he understood. He heard her run out of the alley, toward the fire across the city square, the fire that he could just barely see from the angle he'd landed at. The darkness of the night accentuated the color of the flames, and despite knowing that people were dying there, and that his friend was running towards such danger, he found the glow somewhat mesmerizing from so far away.
As he watched, trying not to think about anything, he found his vision of the distant fire blocked by a pair of legs. The small figure was backlit by the inferno, so he couldn't make out details, but he could assume it was the frame of a little girl, long hair and covered by a coat of some sort that made the sillouette of her frame appear almost comically small.
Mizzah tried not to think about how he must have looked. Thighs bleeding, slashed, now bleeding profusely into the ground beneath him. One arm, the one he couldn't see, had been snapped at the shoulder, and frankly, he could only wonder what it was doing, having had it go numb shortly after the spirits yanked him up by it. The arm that he could see was a mess. The spirits had merely stabbed it through with a nearby scrap of metal, pinning it to the wall and then releasing his other arm to allow him to fall off it, jerking it through his forearm as gravity and his own weight pulled him to the ground. He could see frayed veins and torn muscle through the wound which continued to bleed quite badly. Mizzah remembered screaming, terrified at the horror, his body instinctively reacting by attempting to pull the remainder of his arm from the makeshift stake, his frantic efforts being rewarded by freedom, but also additional injury, the jagged edge of the metal catching a flap of skin and tearing it off as he jerked. The spirits had grabbed him before he could fully realize his terror, opting to silence him quickly by digging fingers through his neck, crushing windpipe and muscle alike. He couldn't speak, and his soft, open-mouthed breathing was probably less than dignified.
Regardless, the little girl wandered into the alley and bent down over Mizzah's head. His eyes struggled to meet hers as she poked him in the forehead. "Are you okay?" she touched him roughly with each syllable. He winced with every poke; every slight movement to his neck was sheer torture. There was noting he could do but blink and stare in what he hoped registered with her as a pleading look. Thankfully the girl did stop and simply stared back at him, her head tilted in childish curiosity. This lasted a moment until she sighed and glanced over her shoulder, eventually following the look with her body, twisting around to sit next to Mizzah's head, her legs splayed out, leaning on her arms. For what seemed like forever, the two watched the fire rage around the buildings beyond. Mizzah was in pain, but in a way, this felt almost cozy; this minute interaction with another human being where no one was trying to take anything from the other, there was no politics here, no judgments, no assumptions, nothing that made interaction with others difficult...
Despite his situation, Mizzah found himself strangely comfortable and closed his eyes. Even if his company was but a tiny stranger, he was honestly happy to not be alone right now.
