#agnvs

[quantcm-blog]

i don't kiss capitalist ladies

look sofia who told u that u has to

[sanctamater]

agnvs replied to your post: quantcm replied to your post: ...

FUCK IT’S ALMOST 5 AM BUT FUCKKKKK LAWRENCE !!!!!!!!!!

[diemuttergans-blog]

"Dr. Lamb, with... all due respect, I do not think my CONDITION is to be any of your business."

@agnvs // starter call

[tearshe]

❛   —   sofia .  ❜   she  rests  in  lamb’s  doorway ,   arms  folded  across  her  chest .   christened  in  crows  blood ,   their  wings  pressed  into  her  back .   she’s  been  in  a  society  like  this  before   /   rapture’s  new  columbia .   god’s  lioness ,   they’re  growing  in  the  sea ,   a  new  society .   one  that  must  and  will  thrive .   ❛   the  big  sisters  have  returned  from  the  surface .   ❜

       –––––   /   @agnvs   ❫ .

[quantcm-blog]

@agnvs

     “I WOULD APPRECIATE it if you would kindly put away that recording device at once.”

[woolfcried]

agnvs replied to your post “agnvs replied to your post: me, standing on a roof...”

Pathetic.

you’re fired :)

[woolfcried]

agnvs replied to your post: me, standing on a roof with a megaphone: jasmine...

still smaller than sofia.

ryan, coming in on stilts: oh?

[sanctamater]

  SUCH REVERENT, HUMAN EMOTION: bright eyes wide and wondering; a curious, painful ache within her chest that she could give name to: HOPE. Elated; utterly floating on air. Swelling up in her chest only to be dashed by quiet speech: AN ARROW TO THE HEART ! Lashes fluttering in shock, gaze now upon the floor, the hem of her dress; hands fidgeting, twisting, bunching her skirt in her hands as though she’d tear through silk. Swallowing down her thoughts, her feelings; sinking within the pit of her stomach like a stone. Too much, and she’d DROWN in them.

  “How cold you are.” Softly, quietly; a seeping FRIGIDNESS in her voice as she lifted her chin; held it high at a haughty angle. It was wrong. Of course it was wrong. Something she’d held down for years, something she’d done her best to ignore. Nails scratching at her wrist, digging into skin, picking at lace cuffs; a breath, a terrible, aching gasp. I, HUMAN. I, SAINT. THESE ARE MY EYES, THIS IS MY HAIR, THIS IS MY MOUTH ! RELICS FOR THE MASSES. I, filled with nothing.   Teeth sinking into her lower lip; tender flesh breaking under strain. Another push, another prod: sick of doctors, of notation, of everything. When will any of you learn that I am not broken, nor can I be fixed? “--My lips.” 

@agnvs from here.