genegrieve

[genegrieve]

*        naivelost

   “ This isn’t the kind of place people like to linger. ”

send 📚 for a random dialogue starter. @genegrieve / six of crows.

                “  i didn’t realise there were places people liked to linger.  ”     genevieve turns to face the source of speech.  well, she supposes when looking him up and down and then the situation she was caught in --- he was right. the disdain in her voice the first time around was uncalled for, who hung about in the fizzy drinks isle in a store for over twenty minutes, anyway ?  expressionless, she turns her attention back to the matter at hand and tries at sounding a little less exhausted over the whole ordeal. instead, she sighs.     “  can’t decide between buying proper diet coke or the off-brand version that’s half the price.  ”

[genegrieve]

six-word sentences.

“ frankly speaking, i wanna give up. ”

“ they love me cause i’m hot. ”  

“ just try to guess the answer. ”

“ everyone here knows you don’t care. ”

“ fine, do things your way. ”

“ i want to be in love. ”

“ no, i would rather make money. ”

“ shut up already, i’m not going. ”

“ because you said that, fuck you! ”

“ i hate you more than anything. ”

“ just sit down? let me explain? ”

“ can i be a little nasty? ”

“ there’s nothing wrong with being sexual. ”

“ i want you to like me. ”

“ don’t you dare lie to me. ”

“ i’m way too scared to fall. ”

“ terrified of my love for you? ”

“ we were both afraid, shut up. ”

“ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ”

“ life’s too short to care anymore. ”

“ i dreamt about you last night. ”

“ really? what did you dream about? ”

“ i dreamt you chose me instead. ”

“ how did you become like this? ”

“ this isn’t any of your business. ”

“ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ”

“ you weren’t there! i needed you! ”

“ please don’t start with me, okay? ”

“ why do you always leave me? ”

“ this is all we have left. ”

“ i turned around. you were gone. ”

“ all i can think about is you. ”

“ wow, you look like shit today. ”

“ i called and you didn’t answer. ”

“ i wanna be a child forever. ”

“ today, my love is in mourning. ” 

“ your words felt like sharp knives. ”

“ say something nice or don’t speak. ”

[genegrieve]

this account isn’t dead but has anyone told my activity yet 

[genegrieve]

was gonna do some stuff on tumblr this early morn but now i’m writing a short story bout vampires cuz i can never get enough of them 

[genegrieve]

genevieve ain’t even written in a supernatural verse but even if she was, at this point, she’s over it

[genegrieve]

short story abt genevieve that u can catch on my wordpress but i’m posting here too

The thing about thin walls is any single sob can be heard through them and you get a maximum of a minute of crying time to yourself before the whole thing’s intruded on. Genevieve knows this all too well. Not once since moving into a shared university house had she been allowed a good amount of self-pity time. Sure, the whole thing is an exercise in egotism and the belief that your sadness is worth anything at all, but sometimes a good session of sobbing your heart out is needed.

So, before the minute is up in her very own crying session and the sobs get too uncontrollable, Genevieve ups and moves, part pink fluffy blanket part pink fluffy cape draped over her fragile form as she descends the stairs. Here’s a thing about floors, too, though – they aren’t quite as thin as walls. Even if the living room is directly underneath the only other tenant of the house (the one who Genevieve tries with all her might to hide any form of emotion in this albeit emotional time from), the crier is gifted, easily, another six to ten minutes before company decided to grace her and rain on her pity parade.

The cat is long gone, and so no meows would make its way in through the sound of Genevieve’s tears and inevitable gasps for air once her crying became a little more than just tearfulness. The sofa was second to none in place in the house for a crying fit, especially when the cold wet bathroom floor was the only other option, par the stairs. Genevieve plants herself on the sofa that, for the record, was as of this moment, a sofa bed. It had been left in this state from the moment the two had moved in and realised it could be adjusted in such a way it created the perfect double bed, ideal for Netflix marathons and general lounging, only fixing it back into a corner sofa when having authoritative visitors that wouldn’t look too kindly on the main fixture in the living room being a giant square of comfort. Genevieve sits, and she sobs.

Soon, though, a few ts ts ts ts ts from the top of the stairs and stirs the therapeutic tranquillity of Genevieve and her sobs. She freezes, clasping her hands over her mouth. A cat was being called, and, perhaps, was actually being done so as a warning to Genevieve from the only other human being in the house that they were, in fact, planning on descending the stairs to intrude. Genevieve takes this warning and runs with it. Heaving her blankets up from the sofa, as well as herself, she clears her way to the bathroom, flicking the switch on and slamming the door behind her. This was more of a don’t fucking come near me warning than anything else, no real thanks for the heads up, just a how dare you think I would let you see me in this state and why would you think yourself ready enough to see it kind of thing.

Genevieve turns to the mirror when she settles in the new space and stares herself out. She looks tired, and the makeup she had clearly not put enough effort into cleaning off earlier that night runs down her cheeks as well as up into her eyebrow and forehead area – Genevieve is an eye rubber when she cries, this look was not a rarity. She scowls at her reflection, which is also not uncommon, and reaches her hand out to touch her mirrored face. It was not a touch of anger, though it was undeniably one of resentment with no kind intentions in it. Genevieve traces the outline of her face, her hair, her eyes, and then drops her hand to her side and spins around, away from the mirror, pulling her hand back into her shroud of blanket.

To put it simply, Genevieve is a state, and she knows it. She lets the tears roll gently down her face, she was not ready to not be a state just yet. Another few more minutes of it and she would head upstairs and back to bed, wake up the next morning and barely remember a moment of the night before. But, for now, in this bathroom on this night, it was what she needed.

She lets out one more lengthy sob before she feels two hands wrap around her throat from behind.

“You skanky bitch whore,” a voice said, presumably the voice belonging to the hands, which, suddenly, started grabbing at Genevieve’s throat a little tighter.

“Think you got problems?” it continues. Genevieve drops the blanket and it catches on the crook of her arm. She deems her hands much more useful in this scenario when it comes to prying at the hands choking her out than she does saving her blanket, and so she uses them to try peeling the hands off her. “Try being anything other than being a slightly better than average looking white girl in the world. Try that and see if you catch yourself crying for no good fuckin’ reason anymore.”

“What the fuck!” Genevieve chokes out – her prying hands are just not doing it. “Stop!” Both the literal lack of air allowed through her windpipe at this moment and the fact she has to force the words out through her tears makes it all the more difficult. Never had she been choked out during a breakdown, and never verbally abused at the same time. All was new ground for Genevieve.

“Stop? You think I don’t wanna say that every fuckin’ time you look at me like that? Try caring about yourself for a change you dumb cunt. I see the way you look at me – unfair is what it is. Have I ever done shit to you-” The grip continues to tighten, Genevieve’s hands scramble and tug more and more at the ones choking her. She is quickly running out of air. The blanket begins to fall from her arm to the damp ground. “-I haven’t done anything that makes you need to look at me with such repulsion. Every fuckin’ day you smile at me, I smile back. That takes energy you dumb bitch! Think I wanna be smiling at your ugly mug? I’ve got better things going on. At least be a little thankful, you know? It’s not my fault this is my job.”

If she hadn’t already, Genevieve was truly panicking now. To reiterate, she is quickly running out of air. Though being choked is never nice, it’s significantly less nice when it has been happening long enough for you to genuinely worry that you won’t ever get another breath of fresh air again.

Genevieve tears one of her hands from the cause that was freeing her throat and begins feeling behind her on the bathroom sink and the shelf above it. What for? For anything, really – as long as it was harder and stronger than the toothbrush and bar of soap she was feeling at now.

“My heart gets broken each and every day. Is there any point in you owning a mirror if you hate the very sight of it that much? If you’re just gonna give me that god awful scowl every time you look at me?”

Being blind in the search is much more difficult than having vision, apparently. It takes Genevieve a good few moments to find what she was sure she had left precariously on the edge of the sink earlier that evening… her hairbrush. But, eventually, hand meets plastic and hope is alive once more.

“You know…” the voice in the mirror continues. Genevieve claws the metal brush handle into her clutches. “It’s disheartening, is what it is, Gen. It really sucks.”

Still tugging at the hands on her neck with the spare hand, choking all the way, Genevieve secures her grip on the brush and, then, with one swift motion, hits the mirror. She hits it fucking hard.

“Hey!”

Again, she hits the thing, and, with it, the grip on her neck loosens. Genevieve slips out to freedom. Panting heavily, she spins to face the mirror, and catches a glimpse of her flushed teary reflection, brandishing her hairbrush with both hands.

She stands wearily for a little while, then. The voice was no more, or, at least, Genevieve can’t hear it. No murderous hands in sight, either, which was certainly a plus. Genevieve lowers the hairbrush and wipes a tear from her mascara stained cheek, still eying the mirror – it’s never a bad thing to be too sure.

“Skanky bitch whore…” she whispers to herself and bends down to retrieve the blanket that had, in the drama of it all, slipped to the ground. It was a little soggy now but, still, Genevieve, frowning, picks it up and drapes it back over her shoulders as the cape it once was. She looks at the mirror for another few seconds more and then scowls again, though, this time, with intentions that aren’t self-deprecating. A mirror that has a death wish for her deserves a little more hate than Genevieve did herself.

A meow comes from outside the bathroom door.

Genevieve continues eyeing the mirror. Could she have cried herself into such a state she had imagined an attempt on her life? From a mirror no less?

Another meow comes, and Genevieve shakes her head.

“You’re the skanky bitch whore,” Genevieve hisses at the mirror, puffing her chest out and pulling at her blanket one more. She sniffs hard and opens the bathroom door. The cat meows at Genevieve and she walks out.

“Dumb cunt,” she whispers back to the room as she smiles at the cat. “You’re the dumb cunt.”

[genegrieve]

FUTUREPOP 1 week ago Not even joking…I’m literally questioning everything right now. 👍 32 👎 REPLY

[genegrieve]

LADY BIRD (2017) dir. Greta Gerwig

[genegrieve]

*     qayinaat‌

HERE’S A REWORKED,        OPEN STARTER      BECAUSE I DON’T FEEL LIKE DRAFTS !

                context is vital  ,    they’d say  ,    but is context    really   all that vital when you are slouched over an open grave ?       part of you is distantly   aware of the night air whistling through the tops of the trees nearby  ,    and the starlight filtering through.     of  the moon hanging bright and full    —  and the promise of potential lurking in the air.     a night of life  ,    some might call it.    of   magic.             you don’t feel very magical.     you feel   cold  ,    your knees hurt  ,    and you skinned your hand on something and it   burns.        you feel fucking tired  ,    if anything.                                                *    /           little witch boy huffs ,    an exhale of     DEFEAT .     

                        you sit back down on the ground instead  ;    long legs sprawled over the loose earth.     take a moment to rub your eyes     (    cursed fuckin’ kid ⼀ both you and ya’ psycho ma’ had them freak eyes, boy !   )       with the heels of your palms before you speak.

                                            ❝     i  swear i   CAN  explain ,   but do i  HAVE  to  ?    ❞  

                context is typically important, but not an ounce of it could give a sense of normality to what genevieve wanders upon. still, what even is normal nowadays ?  visiting a graveyard for anyone other than an elderly family member was out there, hence gen’s absolutely tear stained face, the visit being in the dead of an emotional night really added something else to it, too.  so, sure, why the fuck not a dug up grave with someone looking even younger than her sitting at it.  she takes a step forward, sniffs hard, and frowns. frowns like all hell, and it’s a mean one, too, but it’s only half directed at the boy. make no mistake, though, the speech is all at him.

                “ ...  are you absolutely fucking with me right now ? ”

[genegrieve]

made the dumbass decision to use genevieve as the mc in a book i need to write an opening chapter and book proposal for a module called approaching your novel i’m doing next semester. fucking excited babes

[genegrieve]

six-word sentences.

“ frankly speaking, i wanna give up. ”

“ they love me cause i’m hot. ”  

“ just try to guess the answer. ”

“ everyone here knows you don’t care. ”

“ fine, do things your way. ”

“ i want to be in love. ”

“ no, i would rather make money. ”

“ shut up already, i’m not going. ”

“ because you said that, fuck you! ”

“ i hate you more than anything. ”

“ just sit down? let me explain? ”

“ can i be a little nasty? ”

“ there’s nothing wrong with being sexual. ”

“ i want you to like me. ”

“ don’t you dare lie to me. ”

“ i’m way too scared to fall. ”

“ terrified of my love for you? ”

“ we were both afraid, shut up. ”

“ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ”

“ life’s too short to care anymore. ”

“ i dreamt about you last night. ”

“ really? what did you dream about? ”

“ i dreamt you chose me instead. ”

“ how did you become like this? ”

“ this isn’t any of your business. ”

“ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ”

“ you weren’t there! i needed you! ”

“ please don’t start with me, okay? ”

“ why do you always leave me? ”

“ this is all we have left. ”

“ i turned around. you were gone. ”

“ all i can think about is you. ”

“ wow, you look like shit today. ”

“ i called and you didn’t answer. ”

“ i wanna be a child forever. ”

“ today, my love is in mourning. ” 

“ your words felt like sharp knives. ”

“ say something nice or don’t speak. ”

[genegrieve]

*     enouxment‌

            NATURALLY, she’s laughing at her own jokes. things that are PUNNY and simple bring lavender the most joy. she can hardly control the giggles - and she hasn’t even made it through the joke yet. “i started READING a book about ANTI-GRAVITY                ” cue the pause, for effect of course. “            i can’t put it down.”   // @genegrieve

                genevieve smiles politely. fine, shit joke, in her opinion. but no reason to be mean about it.  you see that ?  the smile on the other girls face before even making it to the joke ?  worth having to feign amusement for the time being. still, she can’t fake it forever. maybe literally any other joke would work better for genevieve.   “ do you know any... other jokes ? ”   any joke... any joke.

[genegrieve]

*     irishrot‌

@genegrieve / starter!

“You jus’ forget what you saw, alright?”

                “ not a very strong argument there. not really any argument at all, actually. ”   ignoring a thinly veiled (mostly just insinuated) threat against her own best wishes ?  entirely likely. so likely, in fact, that it’s exactly what’s happening.  genevieve shrugs.   “ not too convincing, is all. i don’t believe that you want me to forget. ”

[genegrieve]

I REMEMBERED MY LOGIN

[genegrieve]

genevieve was really inspired by the narrator from cold pastora.l by marina keeg.an and i was this close to just writing claire but i love creating my own characters and i just took the aspect of dealing with the death of someone whose relationship with you is so unclear and not definite at all since i find it really interesting and so for that reason here is genevieve

[genegrieve]

i’ve really set myself up for failure on this blog writing an oc who’s a woman and is a LESBIAN 

[genegrieve]

hey guys here’s the lowdown on genevieve: she’s overly emotional and this is heightened so much in the arc i’m playing her in when her girlfriend molly dies unexpectedly in a car crash three years into the two dating. neither of the two’s parents or really anyone other than the pairs immediate friends knew they were dating at all, and now genevieve is really dealing with the the loss of her, to the public, perceived ‘just’ best friend but to her, obviously, long term girlfriend, especially when she’s stuck not knowing if she can out herself/molly since molly never had the chance to come out as gay (and genevieve is closeted too). everything’s chaotic and no one’s having fun. interact with me