Octavia Groves

I write in shadows and flashes—horror’s chill, fantasy’s fire, sci-fi’s fracture, and comedy’s crack.
The weird and the wild run through it all.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

New York, I see everything. Every policy, every headline, every virtue-signaling promise. You call it fairness. I call it digging a pit. And when you fall in, I’ll be here. Watching.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

They wore divinity like a mask.
The city cries.
The sky answers nothing.
Only ruins whisper what they cannot hear.
@nycgov @NYCMayorsOffice

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

New York, I see everything. Every policy, every headline, every virtue-signaling promise. You call it fairness. I call it digging a pit. And when you fall in, I’ll be here. Watching.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

Ash will not fall from the sky.
It will fall from their eyes.
Broken and obsolete, they will sit on cracked streets and plead.
No gods answer. No saviors come.
Only ruins, masquerading as divination,
whispering the reckoning they cannot escape.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

Take note: some will leave. Some will cling. Your followers are the first casualties of your chaos. Let them go. I’ll keep the ones who survive—those who understand the fall before it happens.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

You double wages. Grocery prices spike. Milk, already pricey, could climb from $5 → $7–8. People cheer. They think they “win.” They’re counting currency that no longer exists.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

I am watching.
Every choice.
Every neglect whispers.
The city is a delicate machine.
Twist the knobs wrong, and it screams.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

When lights flicker, trains stop, milk nears $8… remember: this was predictable. Ignored consequences echo louder than applause.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

Decriminalization, sanctuary, “inclusion.” Smoke above a cracking city. Enforcement gaps, budget holes—you can’t tweet reality into existence.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

Billionaires, corporations, Wall Street—gone. Money that ran subways, hospitals, schools… drained while slogans floated above.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

Small businesses? Collapsing silently. Doors slam in shadows. Streets shift. Empty shops are the first whispers of your failure.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

Happy Halloween from me and my son—or maybe from the things pretending to be us. Costumes feel a little too comfortable this year. 🐈‍⬛🎃👻

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

JACK: You in?
CHELSEA: Almost. I just need their MySpace password.
[Toddler throws sausage like a javelin]
JACK: These kids better pull through.
[Offscreen kid] I FOUND A FORK AND A PENNY!
#toddlerheist

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

The Being Who Breathes Space:
A giant with emotions too big for the cosmos.
He weeps, and the world dies—
He spins the planet like a toy and breaks it like one.
His sorrow becomes the storm.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

The Man in the Tree:
An artist. A mystic. The one who plays beauty no one hears.
His death becomes transformation.
His scream is not rage—it’s release.
The darkness flees his face like it’s scared.
And his eyes… his eyes hurt the real you.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

She looked up with a laugh, her eyes still dancing even after the crash.
He holds out his hand and pulls her into a dance. She twirls and whirls as he stands in the storm, his eyes lighting up as she begins to form.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

He mumbles poetry —
words that collapse under their own crowns —
and pisses at the feet of the forgotten.

> “Your Grace. Again?”

From the shadow, the guard —
voice dull as iron —
steps forward.
And the corridor pretends
it doesn’t watch.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

Narrator:
“These aren’t your grandma’s diapers. These bad boys are built tough—until they’re not. Just add one baby deposit, wait a bit, and boom: Dirt magic.”

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

I forgive, but I do not forget.
I love, but I do not shrink.
I stay, but I do not break.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

To be a creator is to think.
Thinking means you do not know all.

[Octavia Groves @Octaviagroves00]

With a brutal cry, she plunges the hook into Magda’s abdomen,
sawing, tearing — pulling the thing out. Veins snap. Bones crack.
Blood sprays the shrine walls like scripture.
Something inhuman writhes in her hands.