a corpse in the dark

no one talk to me today i diagnosed myself with female hysteria   information

[georgianafox-blog]

it’s like emeralds on the pavement

@theorothschild x omens send me a 🍸 for a graphic

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bc when i was reading her app i was like this gal's gotta learn how to fight

@jacklevesque x gia fox send me a 🥂 for a moodboard

[georgianafox-blog]

sylvianneliu‌:

She didn’t like looking at Gia— not for the fact that she felt any particular shame towards the girl’s condition (to feel shame was to feel culpable, Sylvianne was afflicted with nothing of the sort) but rather, she found herself taken aback by her disfigurement. It was an ugliness, it stole what was once enviable and cheapened it’s value. Had her heart of been less black, she might have felt pity, instead, her features fixed coolly. Dark eyes lifted, her brow arched almost imperceptibly. Her own books opened and she took a sip of her coffee.

With her jacket shed, her outfit was far more visible: casual for her, an outfit intended for a lazy Sunday. Skin, unmarred and smooth as cream was visible from the buttons she’d undone on her white shirt, clean denim jeans made up the bottoms. Sylv pushed up her sleeves, flipping to her notes. “I don’t care much for it, but I have done research.” She swapped the books, pulling Gia’s closer. The writing was beautiful, and somehow, that annoyed her. Turning back to her bag, she tugged out the paper with the assignment instructions, laying it on the table before freeing her laptop. “I’ll type.”

“Lady,” she said, for no reason other than that she could, the silence already irrevocably broken, “My style is Lady Fox. Address me as such when you speak to me, Sylvianne.” She should have said it the second Sylvianne had first opened her own mouth. The minute between ‘your time means nothing to me’ and ‘you mean nothing to me’ was a gaping pit at best, and it had swallowed her easily enough. Gia held her head higher, back rigid, gaze turned down instead of level with the other girl’s. She held her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

“Fine. Share a document with me, I’ll type too.” It was hardly a concession; their project’s guidelines required five thousand words of analysis on their assigned topic and a presentation to match. Gia wondered, in the back of her mind, languidly drumming the fingers of her free hand on the table as she opened her own laptop with the other, if a pen to the jugular fell within the marking guidelines set by the Art History Department for a presentation’s conclusion. “I can’t meet tomorrow. We have to finish this today.” Enough small talk. She was feeling, dare she think it, feisty, alone with Sylvianne the slut for the first time she could remember. 

[georgianafox-blog]

DATE: 17 december, 2018 LOCATION: dormitory corridor, facing bas’ door @basdecsey

He was Théo’s first, the severe Austrian (she was English and so very aware of these things; Austria was not far enough removed from its villainous past for her father’s taste) stood perpetually at his side. Gia had long been convinced Décsey had never liked her, always caught with her glances too sidelong, in quiet contemplation of an existence where her boyfriend’s best friend could hardly stand her. He would like her now. She would see to that. 

Her father was a grouse hunter — perhaps because slaughtering foxes would be akin to killing his own kind — she had stood in the Somerset estate’s kitchen, thumb wet with whatever her mother had commanded the kitchen staff make for the evening, and watched him return, boots and jacket muddy, shotgun in hand, utterly detached from the act of taking a life. It stirred and stilled something in her, the scent that lingered on the grounds long after a hunt ended. She stood in front of Bas’ door with smoke on her coat and panic cold in the back of her head, and she wanted it all to be over. ‘One,’ the Duke had instructed his heir as she listened from the stairs, ‘Find your mark. Two, have a contingency. Another trap, another man. Three: never go alone. Four, take aim, and, steady-on, five, pull the trigger.’

Décsey fell fast. Her adulation had his attention, at the very least, and she would not let go of it. Inhaling, throwing her head back, Gia raised her hand to the door, rapping her knuckles on it politely. “Décsey,” she said, voice low, “I need you.” Forgive me, for I have sinned. I have a confession to make.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I’m getting lovelier by the hour. I glow like a corpse in the dark.

Nina Cassian, tr. by William Jay Smith, from “Since You Walked Out On Me,”

[georgianafox-blog]

sylvianneliu‌:

There had been far too much group work assigned over the past semester. Yet another collaborative assignment was announced— they were supposed to teach the students to work well with strangers— and Sylvianne had waited patiently for fate to deal her an ugly hand. As expected, her name was called out and joined with Georgiana Fox’s, whose soured expression said volumes for both of their desire to work with one another. She had a habit of responding to her messages and emails promptly, but dark eyes had sleepily caught the time and location that morning— choosing instead to ignore it.

She’d show up when she wished, which at this rate seemed to be at least thirty minutes after the intended meeting time. Her eyeliner alone had taken an extra five minutes that afternoon, as did the coffee she’d fetched and the leisurely stroll to the postal boxes to receive her packages. When she finally entered the study room, the words were to be expected. Instead of speaking immediately, Sylv slipped into the chair across from Gia, setting up her things and unwinding her scarf from around her throat. “I had things to do,” she noted idly, taking a sip from her coffee. Showing up on time was a gesture of respect; and for the brunette across from her, she had none. “Did you start already?”

Not a fucking word. Her retort sprung to her tongue quickly, and in a dream she did say it: ‘And? Do you think my time is limitless, that I could wait for you for hours when I have things to do too? Selfish cunt. Get up. Leave.’ She held her tongue, instead, eyes narrowing. She hadn’t been forced to imagine the body her boyfriend saw, she’d seen it several times long before she knew to be jealous of it. (She had always been jealous of her, Sylvianne, in a passive way, in the way that sprung forth when one compared her own blemished thighs to smooth, soft-looking ones. Always. That was the nature, Gia had been told, of being a girl in this world.) Without looking up to answer her partner, because that was a gesture of respect, and for cruel sluts, she had none, she opened her class notes, the pen marks stark against the white pages. 

The study room’s temperature had dropped at least a few degrees. Gia, skin prickling under her sleeves, found what she was looking for. “Do Western techniques. I’ve written about Byzantine tradition before.” I know more than you, she said, without so many words, her resolve not unlike the layer of ice over Lake Lucerne: broken, with enough weight. Melted, eventually. And, finally, gaze hardened, she met Sylvianne’s eyes, pushing her notebook across the table that held her back. 

[georgianafox-blog]

since i still have ps open and im too lazy to find that one meme for your characters and possibly their relationship with gia if i can be bothered:

send me a 🥂 for a moodboard send me a 🍸 for a graphic send me a 🍷 for a playlist & cover art send me a 🍺 if you want to see sylv and gia fist fight in my reply to sam

[georgianafox-blog]

DATE: 1 december, 2017 LOCATION: brunch @theorothschild​ 

“I’d rather die than spend Christmas in Somerset,” Gia had always been good at that, making statements that should be violent threats slow and sweet, perfected in the years since she was a child in a red pinafore with toys from Harrods three times her size trapped by the vastness of the estate she had always hated. The statement didn’t require elaboration, it was a question and an answer, the Fox was trapped: I can’t escape, so, kill me, then. Her whole body felt electric; she was distressed, on the edge of a very precarious drop. Half of it was not having slept, she knew. The other half is Théo, hers, they were freezing cold in the dim winter light. You. Her legs were crossed at the ankle under the table, one suede boot brushing against the other. She uncrossed them, sticking out her lower lip in a glossy pout. 

The dining hall, ordinarily crowded with students by now, was mostly empty, almost entirely devoid of life. They had the room to themselves. She had him to herself. 

“Don’t move,” Gia said, suddenly, “You’re gorgeous. Like an angel. You have a halo.” She leaned forward, stomach hitting the table’s edge hard, reaching out to move his hair further from his forehead. “Are you an omen? Come to warn me of our impending doom?” she cooed, then laughed, falling back against the chair, one hand rising to cover her mouth. “You don’t have to warn me. I know Exmoor is where the world ends. Save me. I’m begging you.”

[georgianafox-blog]

DATE: 3 october, 2018 LOCATION: the upperclassmen dorms (hallway) @jacklevesque

Even before — she defined herself constantly in ‘before’ and ‘after’ now, as if she was a lost civilization to be categorised and contextualised — she had rarely been the one to approach. Instead, she was encroached upon, stolen away, the one waiting and adamantly refusing to extend her hand if someone else could extend theirs first. Gia was, now, also, a realist, and Jack  Lévesque was unlikely to come to her before then and he was unlikely to come to her now. 

She caught sight of his back from across the hall, and made the quick, calculated decision to make her move: she didn’t know his movements and she didn’t particularly care to; her classes didn’t overlap with Jack’s; it was unlikely she could predict when she’d see him again. Gia extended her hand, to touch his shoulder and steal him away. (His attention, at least, she could hardly steal him.) “Can I talk to you?” Her words were naturally clipped, the byproduct of an education in Surrey and a mummy and daddy with accents like an ooze of treacle. “Just for a moment. I promise it won’t be long.” No, her words were rusty with disuse, she was croaking.

[georgianafox-blog]

DATE: 16 december, 2018 LOCATION: the library, group study room #4 @sylvianneliu

The sheer unholiness of waiting for Sylvianne Liu in the library on a Sunday was almost laughable (laughing, though, especially in the library, was a sin, and she had accumulated far too many of those just by existing, at this point). Gia had nearly swallowed her tongue when their pairing was announced, her jaw clenching so tight it might have shattered if not for the release when she opened her mouth to say — ‘Thank you.’ Cunt. In fact, she had failed, at first, to register Sylvianne’s name being announced alongside hers, it turned over and over in her head as one word, over and over, until it was the only name for the girl she would recognise.

Gia’s gaze fixed steady on the clock hanging a few feet overhead. Half past one. That’s when she had told Sylvianne’s student email she would be in Study Room 4. She pulled at one sleeve, then the other, suddenly cold and daydreaming on the idea of telling Sylvianne’s student email that she should have been on time and Gia would be turning in their project with a note attached: ‘Unfortunately, I could not reach Sylvianne Liu, so all the work you see below is my own.’ Which was childish, she knew, but. if her partner was going to be a child and arrive late, she had no choice but to retaliate.

She had wrapped her fingers around the worn leather case she kept her Macbook in, to leave, to work on their shared project alone, when the study room’s door opened. Her mouth was open a second later, the words out immediately like runners at the sound of a starting pistol. “You’re late.”