your-girl-nina
angel, my beloved
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What are you supposed to do when someone who's much more thin than you starts to say they're fat and talks about their ed.??
Makes me feel horrible about myself an my Ed jus flares up but I don't want to be rude
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So in love with this?!?!
Although a lot of people might see barty as an atheist I see him as extremely religious. This man is Catholic through and through he just gave up on trying to follow the right path. He sins and sins but that doesn't stop the guilt from eating him alive. He is scared, he fears god more than anything. You could find him in a room that's just plain white walls with just a simple cross on one wall, on his knees, bent over praying for forgiveness. Can sinners ask things of their all mighty? He fully believes in "pray for the sinners before we get caught" and I think that's just beautiful.
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#marauders and slytherin skittles friendship#hp marauders#the marauders#harry potter#handwriting#tumblr polls
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Ever wish that you'd drop dead in front of someone who's yelling and belittling you just so that they'd feel a bit of guilt? If they're capable of guilt.
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I want so painfully to be religious. To have faith in something, someone. To be at the mercy and control of a greater being, a god. But I just can't, it's fucked that he won't install his faith in me. I want to beg on my knees, to pray and offer my soul to a god. I want to repent and not sin. I want to tell people "god will help me", but when will he ever. Why am I to be punished after death if he himself, the all mighty couldn't make me faithful. I want to be his follower, completely gone in worshiping him, but does he want my company?
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I wanna be loved and cared for, for being chosen. Instead I am loved like a man loves his god, out of guilt, fear and repentance.
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If we were given choices by God, and choices are different options with no harmful consequences, then why are there bad consequences to choosing.
Is it really a personal choice if there's a wrong answer?
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I want someone to suffocate, drown, stab and shoot me with their love. (I'm just a girl?)
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I want to crack open my ribs and hide you between my lungs, for you my love are my beating heart.
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No thoughts just my existential dread and shame from wasting oxygen on myself
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Numbers define me. They taunt me. Laugh and mock me. The numbers on my scale, the numbers on my exam papers, the number of scars, the number of people who have left me, and the numbers of my remaining days.
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Although a lot of people might see barty as an atheist I see him as extremely religious. This man is Catholic through and through he just gave up on trying to follow the right path. He sins and sins but that doesn't stop the guilt from eating him alive. He is scared, he fears god more than anything. You could find him in a room that's just plain white walls with just a simple cross on one wall, on his knees, bent over praying for forgiveness. Can sinners ask things of their all mighty? He fully believes in "pray for the sinners before we get caught" and I think that's just beautiful.
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I want to feel loved in the way where someone would burn the world for me
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Passenger
@rosekillermicrofic // May 14th - insane // words: 856 // minors dni
Speeding down the highway, the landscape is rushing past them, a nervous blur of the black night sky and bright neon signs. Evan’s eyes flick down to the dashboard of their trusty Dodge Challenger. And so do Barty’s.
140 miles per hour. 150. 200.
They’re fucking fast.
“Hit the gas, Rosie!” Barty laughs, turning in his seat to catch their trackers tailgating them. They’re fast too. But, considering Evan will turn off the car lights any second, plunging them into total darkness and vanishing the Challenger into the cool air of the night, they stand no chance. Barty’s grin takes up a new dimension of delight.
“Any faster, and I’ll lose track of the road signs”, Evan mumbles, taking one last sip of his soda can.
Scrunching up the frail metal within his palm, he then throws the remains out of the open window, one hand safely secured to the wheel. For a moment, Barty hoped the can would hit the windshield of the SUV behind them, but to no avail. Disappointed, he clicks his tongue, focussing back on the road ahead.
“Fuck the road signs!” he says. “If one of the pigs wants to stop us now, I’ll show him how pretty his brain looks on the pavement. Didn’t bring those TEC-9s for nothing.”
Huffing, and with his arms crossed above his chest, he slumps back into the passenger seat, propping his feet up against the windshield.
It was supposed to be an easy job; in and out. No witnesses. A simple kidnapping with a shit-ton of ransom money as a reward. But, of course, it had to be a trap, a botched operation. If Riddle wanted to get rid of them so desperately, he should have done it himself, and not sent out a bunch of bloodhounds.
What an egomaniacal, deranged coward. Barty will be all too happy to greet him with a gun inside his pants. And this time, he doesn’t mean his cock.
Roll the windows down, this cool night air is curious. Let the whole world look in. Who cares who sees anything? I’m your passenger.
At the sound of the radio echoing back his own sentiment, the grin reappears. Usually, Barty listens to no one, but the moment couldn’t be more fitting.
“What- what are you doing?” Evan questions warily, his eyes fleetingly glancing over at him.
“Living” comes the simple reply.
Before the pretty blonde can do anything, Barty has rolled the windows down.
Without unbuckling his seatbelt – because why would he fasten it to begin with? – he climbs out halfway, nothing but his waist and legs keeping him inside the racing car. Feeling the harsh air whip through his hair and prick his nose and ears like a thousand tiny needles, an ecstatic cackle bubbles from his lips.
This. This is what it means to be alive, to breathe.
If only for a short moment.
“Get. In”, Evan grunts, pulling Barty back with one harsh tug on his blood-soaked shirt. “You maniac are getting us both killed!”
Almost as if to lend his words some weight, Evan swerves hard right, trying to avoid crashing into the slowing car before them. The tires screech deafeningly in protest and the centrifugal force shoves Barty back into the passenger’s side door. Left and right, empty beer cans and other trinkets are flying through the tiny space, and with one last bumpy correction of his course, Evan gets them back on track.
“Beautiful”, Barty breathes in admiration, his piercing eyes alighting with new fire and his hands shaking from excitement. “No one can drive like you can, Rosie.”
“Save your compliments until we’re fucking out of here, Crouch.”
He looks over to him, watches the wind dance inside his blonde locks. If they go crashing down, Barty will be glad to crash with him.
Here I lay, just like always. Don’t let me go. Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go. Take me to the edge.
“Do you trust me?” Barty murmurs into the warm space between them.
“Of course, I trust you”, Evan replies.
“Blindly?”
“Blindly.”
Without another word, Barty leans forward then. Gently, he wraps his hands around Evan’s face, covering his eyes. Freezing at first, the pretty blonde relaxes into the touch easily, his grip slackening on the wheel.
“The road is empty. There is no one in front of us”, Barty coos. “You got this, angel. Let me be your eyes-“
“-and I’ll be your wings”, Evan finishes, a small smile stretching over his lips at the familiar words.
Confidently, he presses down on the gas pedal, increasing their speed once more. Filled with pride, Barty gently kisses his cheek.
“There is another sloth right in front of us. The right lane is empty. You have about 15 seconds.”
Shifting gears and slowing down without effort, Evan taps the wheel. Gracefully, they avoid yet another crash. Yes, no one can drive like his Rosie. No one knows the road like he does.
“You are one insane motherfucker”, Evan smiles as Barty lifts his hand again. He simply shrugs it off.
“As long as I am yours.”
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So like- situationship/ relationship with characters A and B where they're raising an orphaned child together and they have many enemies after their necks, one night character A comes back from a long 1 month long work trip. They're stressed, exhausted, and just wanna sleep. They get Bach home just in time to see character B passed/knocked out on the drive way clearly severely hurt,and I'm talking 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵, looking into death's eyes basically. While a van is leaving quickly, no doubt having kidnapped their child. The child who has brought happiness back into their lives, the child whom they vowed to always protect. So the question is, would they go after the van to bring their child back while their partner is fighting death and deal with guilt of losing the only person who has been by their side their whole life? Or would they help their partner while their child might be getting hurt or they might lose the kid and deal with the guilt of having failed the kid and their partner resents them for not going after the van?
Leave the answers below!
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