Final round! Who is the ultimate underrated Skyrim NPC?
Ri'saad vs Madesi
Ri'saad
Madesi
Cosimo Galluzzi
One Nice Bug Per Day

JVL
Claire Keane

No title available
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

Love Begins

Janaina Medeiros

tannertan36
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

Kaledo Art
$LAYYYTER
i don't do bad sauce passes
sheepfilms
Show & Tell
dirt enthusiast
we're not kids anymore.

shark vs the universe
d e v o n
seen from Brazil

seen from Malaysia

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seen from Australia

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States

seen from United States
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seen from Romania

seen from India
seen from United States
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@ph2-1
Final round! Who is the ultimate underrated Skyrim NPC?
Ri'saad vs Madesi
Ri'saad
Madesi
Why aren’t Thou with me?
Cold. Cold, frosted, like a frozen pond in a biter winter storm - that’s what my heart was before You. A calloused brick inside my being barely fit to beat life into my veins, let alone feel a love that runs deeper than the cold that consumes it. I was lost. Soul-less, but solar searching in a constellation that was slowly drifting apart.
And then You, with all your interested, plucked my stars straight from these hands like a Holy lamb, neither above nor below. My constellation that was slowly drifting apart was now held close in your palm, so the warmth of their burning fires would no longer harm but thaw out the frostbite that consumed my heart. Against my will but in my better interest, my fate aligned to You.
Give me Your nothings, Your perfect noughts and zeros. With all the love I have for you, much less heros, more an anchor. You delivered me from an evil presented in myself, You grounded me to who I am.
The way my fingers run through Your hair, when You lay on top of me and Your hair goes all in my face so I can’t quite see, lost in a field of silky black that I never want to leave. The way your deep brown eyes burn in the light - like your eyes are the rising sand dunes of the sahara desert and mine is the blue oasis that is desperately needed for life. Your smile, God your smile. Infectious, the way that even in the darkness of hopelessness your smile could guide a path towards happy times. I would give everything for you.
I don’t want to imagine You with another person, holding their hand, or flying to the motherland at night. I want You, I want to be Your only. I don’t want to imagine your name on their phone and the messages you share each day. I don’t want to imagine their hands on Your body, I don’t want to imagine Your breaths in their ear. I don’t want to imagine the day You leave and find someone to hold You in my absence.
My eyes may be the blue of your desert waters, but they are turning into a vivid green that even the darkest of sunglasses cannot hide. A sense of selfishness is washing over me, because I don’t want to share the messages I look forward to each day, or the breaths that caress my ear, and the nights we share - oh the nights of You and I.
I fear there will never be enough words in our languages to describe the deepest love that I feel for You.
When You leave, will You remember me? Will the mention of my name or the murmur of a memory invoking word provoke a wave of emotion as You picture Your love for me?
And so now I ask once more to be, in all Your splendour and love - Why aren’t Thou with me?
----------------------
03/05/2021 | 19.28
To be depressed
What is it to be depressed?
To be is to do; to live, to breathe, to love and lose. To be happy.
To be young is to be beautiful.
To be depressed is to feel alone in a room full of people.
To be depressed is having it good and still be enveloped by a feeling of loss.
The feeling of the cold slowly creeping up your shirt, the hairs on your arm slowly standing on edge as a breeze slithers up your arm like a lightning rod finding the path of least resistance.
The feeling of complete, and utter, despair.
To be depressed is to feel concealed but not quite hidden.
To be depressed is to feel empty but not quite depleted.
To be depressed, is to live a life of constant anxiety every time you wake up. Every time youre with your friends the little voice inside saying "what if..."
What if they dont actually like me?
What if they think im stupid?
What if they dont actually like me?
What if I dont actually belong here?
What if theyre talking about me behind my back?
What if this is all a lie?
What if they dont actually like me?
To be depressed is to hate confrontation because you just dont believe in yourself.
To be depressed is to want to, to need to, cry but having a physical inability to do so.
To be depressed, is to lay in bed each night questioning everything about yourself, questioning everything about your life, hating everything you are, everything you were and everything you ever will be.
To be depressed is to never let anyone close to you.
Maybe this, this mess that is depression, is too much for them to handle; maybe it will do nothing but push everyone away. Like I dont do that already, to be depressed is to keep everyone at arms length at all times.
No medication can cure this.
To be depressed is to never see nor find a way out of the maximum security prison that is, my mind.
The Fig Tree
When I was a kid my favourite tree was a fig tree. We had one in the garden, down at the bottom, overgrown low-lying branches and nothing could stop them. Leaves like fans bearing fruit fit for kings and queens every summer. And on those warm hot days, when the sun was beating down and the light was blinding, and everyone was laughing and having fun, we would pick those fruits and make fig pie.
The process of a fig fruit always intrigued me. You see, a fig cannot grow without the sacrifice of a wasp. The wasp climbs through a hole in the fig so small she loses her wings, she stays inside and dies, giving her life for the fruit. Every summer, on those warm hot days when the sun was beating down and the light was blinding, and everyone was laughing and having fun, we would enjoy those fruits...
And then I’d think about those cold days, when violence and shouting ripped through the house like a dull knife through a fig, not quite cutting just bludgeoning. The days when I’d hide in my room under the covers not daring to peek outside while the yelling and screaming surrounded - like the wasp inside a fig not daring to come out, not daring to look, would rather die inside that fig than face the atrocities that lie waiting outside.
I’m starting to think there is a stronger association with my love for the fig tree that runs deeper than just the fruit that touches my lips.
As a kid I think I learnt to love the fig tree because I see myself in it. Like tearing off the wings of a wasp just to fit in, the grasp of that house meant I’d never truly fly, never reach my goals because the only thing I learnt is a sorry sense of self mutilation in order to fit in. And on those days where my fathers berating words didn’t hold me back, the self hatred that was planted within me would be enough to keep me grounded; the ropes of depression from 8 that surrounded; cut out my voice so I’d never make a sound and; the sense of home replaced by a battleground, and the only weapon I had was my voice that you stole from me.
A house not quite a home. A fruit that never truly blossomed. And how, even on those hot days, when the sun is shining down enough to make my skin glow with a sheen of sweat, it is still not enough to thaw out the frostbite that consumes my heart.
I thought I saw the fig tree as a prison, trapping its wasp and preventing her from ever achieving another thing. But now I see the branches of the fig tree are not the iron bars that once trapped me and, the leaves like fans are not the net that once caught my sense of security and, that fruit is not the prison that I once thought it to be.
The fig is the house, and this house may never be a home, but just as we turned those figs into pie on those warm hot days, we can leave this place and create something so much more beautiful.
This house may never be a home, but they will never stop you building your own.
“Had no weapon, I’m guessin’ his hands were just enough for me Was no question, I’m guessin’ he laughed just at the sight of me I was lost”
— XXXTentacion - Train food
this weekend keep gettin worse, i really don’t believe this shit. RIP Juice WRLD, gone too young
PSA
i am not responsible for any damage you may receive in any chaotic form on my blog
My cat says he’s more chaotic than you
how dare he speak such fallacies in my presence
Fallacies?? He is the furnace of all that is chaotic. He chooses which of his children of chaos gets to live or perish. You are lucky that he has decided to keep you alive.
@i-am-a-koi coward
i love him, he is so floofy, are you sure that you are not letting a small cat demon inhabit your home
That’s only the form he uses to fool mortals
XXX
I don’t know what hurts more, losing people or losing myself,
I hear things ya know? and talk to myself, I try not to be crazy, keep my composure and be strong, I am strong, but weak at the same time, if that even makes sense, the mystery behind me isn’t anything cool, or exciting it’s depressing, it’s sad, I’ll always be alone in my mind, with my actions, lies, motives,
I’ll always lose people because I’m at never ending war with myself, I lean on people to save me from myself, when in reality the only way to save me is to kill me,
my depressions comforted me for so long, I’ve to some degree become fond or even used to it, I can’t blame my mom , or the girls who loved me for leaving, in the end all there is, is me, it’s not rewarding or suprising , this character I’ve become , is it even me? is this what I wanted? I’m not sure,
the nightmares, sleepless nights, crazy thoughts, they all play a role, I had someone who could ease it ya know? and I made it my goal to ruin it, literally, she was so good to me, she was my heroin, or “heroine” I broke her, completely, but not only to ruin her, to build her, and she hung on , for so long, for so fucking long,
now I’ve reached a point where I can no longer progress, I’m in a pond with a canoe rather than in the ocean around me in a sailboat,
nothing excites me, nothing will give me joy for to long, only pain and sorrow is what has made me feel or comforted me,
being suicidal dosent exactly help these habits either, I had a drug stage where I would pop pills on pills, just to not feel anything at all, I’d get lost, and than create a motive,
the problem now is that my motives are always surrounded with these evil intentions, I’ve come to think I’m literally a villain at heart,
the thing is , villains are necessary for a story to go about, but, they never find love, or comfort in reasonable motive, just the craziest the things, when im good im sad, when im bad I feel alive, but than I hate myself after,
my insanity has been feeding on me since I could walk, I’d only prayed I’d found someone who figured it out and had the patience to keep me, to disregard the pain and only feed me love, it’s selfish of me, I know, but where are you, angel, my wing ridden angel,
save me - xxx
If i kill myself, just know i love you.
you don’t love me if you’d kill yourself and leave me to deal with the fact that i couldn’t save you, thats a pretty messed up way to love me.
"why is some of your music so depressing?"
why is it so depressing?
because when the lights are off,
all the moneys gone,
and the club scene is no more,
I want you to be able to find comfort in me behind closed doors, when it all matters the most.
To my people
To you, the generation I grew up in, the people I surrounded myself with every day, the people who I don’t know but know are out there somewhere, this is to you.
To the boy curled up in bed who’s been taught by society that he must be a strong, masculine man who can’t cry in front of anyone, who has grown up suppressing so many tears and emotions that now he just feels so painfully numb even the blade in his hand can’t hurt him anymore.
To the girl sat on the floor of the shower, trying to scrape every last inch of her skin clean, who is scratching so much and so hard that she is ripping her skin off and bleeding. Trying to clean away the dirt that was forced upon her by a man who she said no to, by a man who she didn’t ask for nor want. But she is too afraid to speak up because of the limits that society has tied her to, because she knows that she was wearing a skirt and a crop top that night and that she had been drinking at a friends house.
To the kids who are sat aching on the floor of their bedrooms, who had their hearts broken and torn to pieces too early, who experienced heartbreak so prematurely that they will never fully recover. And the only sounds they will remember for years to come is the sounds of their favourite sad songs that they listened to on repeat as their broken heartstrings bled the the tears they held up. That they’ll never truly be able to swim because of the ocean of tears that they drowned themselves in.
To the friends who were a crutch for everyone, who listened and helped whenever they were called upon, but never had anyone there to help them themselves. The friends who were no more a third leg to stand on than a passing night cloud. Who helped everyone no matter what, and gave their best advice when on the inside they were dying themselves.
To the kids who tried their best to make everyone around them happy, who gave their everything to everyone just so they could see a smile on someone’s face, but were met with nothing more than hate and misconceptions. The kids who everyone thinks are rude and heartless, when in reality they’re the nicest people anyone could ask for. Who gave so much in the name of someone else’s happiness that they neglected they’re own, and are now filled with a bitter emptiness of lost hope and broken dreams.
To the people who have argued with who they are, who have tried to be someone they’re not and have tried to suppress their inner feelings because they are so scared of who they really are.
To the queer kids who have grown up being told that God is every kind of love except theirs, who have lost their sense of self and their sense of self worth, who are absolutely terrified that the love they are feeling will burn too bright and they’re bodies will be dragged down and lost in the flames of hell
To the minorities who feel like they will never truly belong in this world because no matter where they go there is always somebody waiting to discriminate against them.
To the people of colour who are terrified to walk down the street day or night incase they coincidentally match the description of a suspect of a break in from 2 days ago, incase a white supremacist turns the corner to see them, and their stone cold eyes stare straight into yours as they slowly pull a knife out of their pocket.
To the Latinx’s who are told each day to “go back to Mexico” despite the fact that you’re from Cuba, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, or just anywhere other than Mexico, because they fail to see that Mexico. Isn’t. The. Only. Country. To. Speak. Spanish. And that, this is your home.
To the children who grew up in silence, who sat in the still like statues daring not to make even the smallest of movements, with not so much as a breath falling from their mouths. Who grew up seeing fists instead of hugs, who grew up black and blue instead of colourful and happy. The kids who used to cover up with oversized jumpers and make up because the bruises were getting too frequent to be passed off as ‘just clumsy’. To the kids so terrified of the hand that would be laid across them if they stepped out of line that their lives became a tightrope of fear and paranoia, that they may never get to the end because the rope leads on forever even after they have grown up.
To the kids who barely made it through the education system even though they tried their hardest every single day, even though they worked as hard as they could and applied themselves in their all to everything they did. Who barely scrapped C’s when their effort was A* worthy. Who were told “you just didn’t try hard enough” even though their hands were bleeding ink from all the writing they had done, even though their eyes were red with pain because they hadn’t slept properly in weeks, even though their stomachs howled like the wind of a hurricane because they hadn’t eaten properly for days, because revision was more important their health.
To the children and teens who are scared to go to school every single day, terrified that it might be their last. The kids who will grow up knowing that they will never be able to see their best friend ever again, the kids who laid underneath a table as they watched the life drain out of their best friends once bright and happy eyes, knowing they’ll never be able to say “I love you” one last time.
To the friends who are terrified to watch their American friends go to school each day because they fear that one day they’ll never hear from them again, because the last sound they ever heard wasn’t the notification of your text but the detonation of a gun ricocheting through their ears as a bullet embedded itself into their body.
To the kids who walk the school halls each day pretending not to hear the abuse that’s shouted at them by their peers. The kids who cry in the shower because then their tears are invisible, because it makes it that little bit less real, because it makes the pain hurt that little bit less. Who walk into school each day void of any feeling, who have emptied themselves so they will feel nothing, because feeling nothing hurts less than the suffering they would be put through.
To the people who smile every day when all they want to do is cry, who say they’re fine when really they are anything but. Who walk each day like a victory when inside the war is still raging on, knowing that reinforcements are not coming.
To the LGBT+ people who have to hide in the closet, terrified to open the doors, because they know the world is so quick to judge but so slow to accept even when it is true love. The people who feel like they’ll never truly belong because they’ve learnt to hate themselves, because what they are is wrong and sinful, because they have to listen to homophobic comments every single day and pretend like they are something they’re not in the vain hope that maybe no one will see through the facade.
To my generation. To my people. My friends and my foes. My friends that I haven’t met yet and the people that I will never meet. The people that I don’t know but know are out there. I hear you. This world is a blacked up shade of fuckery, this world will take any shred of hope you have and crush it whilst you watch.
But to each and every one of you, you’re amazing. You face a different challenge every day, you break on the inside and still stand tall, you’ve learnt to fix yourself because no one else will. You are an inspiration! You may not now, but you will be proud of who you are one day, you will be proud of your personality, proud of your heritage, proud of your sexuality! You will not suffer in silence anymore. You are beautiful, smart, talented and funny! You are not worthless, you don’t need to hide. You have a purpose. You make this world a better place.
To anyone who needed this...
I’m proud of you.
______________________________________
July 27th 2018 - Finished. 16:11pm