Implied Violence - Tumblr Posts
Happy Julius Caesar murder murder stab stab day!
Yeah, this thing is pretty expensive, but it's not as expensive as me, meaning I will not wait to sacrifice my dignity before using it as a projectile weapon
Binding
Welcome to this weeks response to the Friday Picture Prompt on The Writer’s Mess. This week the picture was of a calligraphy pen, with a single dot of what looks like black ink on a white surface. I chose to interpret this as blood, under strange lighting, and made what could be a continuation of previous picture prompts, as someone signs a contract to escape a place, and go back home. A single…
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Lock, Stock, and Barrel
Hello hello and welcome to this six-sentence story, where I decided to use the word of the week, STOCK, in six different ways. This one is more than a little odd, and the definition of “that escalated quickly” but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! This was it, the end of her long reign, the reason she was to be dethroned before reaching her silver jubilee, a single out of stock item. It wasn’t…
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OFFER YOUR HEART LIKE A DRUG!
Back at it again with some horror art. Local guy gets blood all over him and stares at the camera.
The colors remind me of Ao Oni and the dolls from Ib!
The lyrics are from Paparazzi Murder Party by Vane Lily! Absolute banger of a song. You'll probably see it get used again.
Goretober Day 20: Ice Pick
Iceman fucking snaps
Her bodyguard shifted, wrapping the cloth around his arm as blood welled from the wound.
“You didn’t have to—“ she began, and her bodyguard snapped his gaze up.
“Of course I didn’t. But it is my job to. And even if it wasn’t my job, I would anyways, because I care about you.”
Her eyes fell once more to his nimble fingers as they guided the wrap.
“It was just a bar fight.”
“A bar fight that could have killed you.”
“But it didn’t kill me—“
He tied off his bandage.
“But it could have,” he said sternly. “It doesn’t matter if it is a scratch or a mortal wound—it is my job to protect you from harm; any harm.”
She sighed. She didn’t know how many times they’d had this argument, but she knew she would never win. Halivard was stern in his protection of her, and she knew he would sacrifice himself for her at the drop of a hat—and do it gladly. She supposed she was lucky he kept her escapades into the city a secret.
She wasn’t sure if she had done anything worth such devotion other than be born into a royal family. But Halivard was as close to a best friend as she had, so although it was selfish, secretly, she was glad for him.
He gestured to the door.
“You have an appointment with Geraldine, yes?”
She nodded, and he let her check over his wound.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Halivard smiled. “Only slightly.”
“Only slightly a liar, or it only hurts slightly?”
He laughed.
“Princess, we best be going.”
She rolled her eyes, but let him lead her down the opulent halls.
By the time they reached Geraldine’s door, they had settled into a comfortable silence.
Looking back, that was probably why she heard the noise at all.
Halivard identified the noise before she did.
“Princess, I’m not sure—“
She knew what that sound was.
She should have known better than to open the door—she had seen the signs, and she had ignored them.
But now?
Her hand found the knob anyways, and the latch clicked as it opened.
Geraldine stilled in the bed, sheets tangled around her—and another girl.
She blinked. Geraldine blinked. The other girl blinked.
“Sophia—“ Geraldine said, voice breaking, and the other girl shot upright, clutching the sheets to her chest.
“Princess Sophia? You didn’t tell me—oh my god—“ the girl prattled, on and on about how she hadn’t know Geraldine was dating the Princess, that she hadn’t known, that she was sorry.
Distantly, Sophia wondered if she would be sorry if it was anyone else—just some person who loved Geraldine but wasn’t royal. Would she care then?
Sophia clutched her hands to her chest. She felt like she had been shot, or stabbed, or maybe crushed under the weight of it all.
Halivard stepped forward.
“Princess,” he said gently, resting a hand on her shoulder.
Geraldine began to climb out of the bed.
“How could you?” Her voice broke, wet with tears, and Geraldine stopped.
“Sophia, I’m sorry—“
“Sorry because you got caught, or sorry because you did it.”
Geraldine stopped, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I love you.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
A single tear slipped down Geraldine’s cheek. The other girl was forgotten behind her.
Distantly, Sophia was aware she was crying.
She had loved Geraldine more than life, once. It had felt like freedom.
Now? Now it felt oppressive, the weight of a love that turned out to be too much. A love that had been carefully balanced and had now shattered on the floor, slicing her hands as she went to put them back together.
Sophia looked at her hands as if she could see the blood.
“Sophia,” Geraldine said, and Sophia turned to Halivard. His face was stark with pity, and anger, and too much emotion to identify.
“Halivard,” Sophia said quietly.
“Yes, Princess.”
“Does this count as harm?”
Halivard’s gaze turned assessing, understanding crossing his face.
“I believe it does.”
“Sophia, wait,” Geraldine pleaded, fear coloring her face. She took a step forward.
Sophia met Halivard’s eyes, let the hurt and steel and loss flood through them.
When she spoke, it was a whisper.
“Protect me.”
Halivard smiled grimly.
“Yes, Princess.”
And he drew his sword.