#*claus

[radiantbeams]

why does zayn look like the snowmizer

[kim-jiwoong]

10 days left till my bday so if someone wants to buy me a big taenini plushie, you can send it to "anna, poland" and i'm sure it will reach me on time 🫶

[smokkfiskur-blog]

Oh, and what fine details have surpassed even my own vision - something of the More, than What Was. No matter watch architecture my eyes may run down upon, a mechanical regard deducing it into so little - but to see what stone it was made out of, the simplest of concretes or the knowledge of what made a building brick from brick. The air - the altitude, the corrections and the most basic of understandings, presented and using them as tools of war. Never was there that depth, as we ran down these splintered paths, you feeling, swift - cunning, and so full of hope. I, forgetful - my gears breaking down of a previous concept of what I was, a hollow shell - brainwashed, loss of memory and plagued with the lack of you.

But I look back now, and see you. Dogs among the swine, and our stature so awkward - our hands formed not from the same material to make us stand out among these men, be spat at and called rejects. Myself, I bear these words - bastard, devil, demon with righteousness of what I have done. To you, and others - so ravaging, so brutal. A corrosive part of the decay, that you were not part of. You never were. You look at me, you grin - you say you are there, and that you will not leave - that you will always be there. Oh, and that stirs something from me, awkward canine giving some gesture, ears pulled back to suggest some emotion, and some feeling.

You and I, of the same soul. You say you will not leave me, and you will follow me constantly - and never again shall we part.

Silently, I promise you, that I will be there, too. No matter how scarred, torn apart, we both may be.

You promise.

... And I believe you.

[smokkfiskur-blog]

Lovely contemplation of sketches by mothbane.

Thank you very much and despite what you may think, none of these actually fail - even if you are a lazy butt and can't even upload this yourself. I love these too much I really really doo~

More spam to follow for you, sir, more spam to follow!

[smokkfiskur-blog]

A thief on the prowess, that very hound lost from my grasp. Once so ensnared - but so fleeting, you left me - you left them. Only to invoke such chaos, bitterness - that fills me to the brink of destruction, decay. That voice echoing so clearly - how could I ever let you get away. A missing ship, tracked, and so dully recollected, that puny mutt exiting once more. I hated you (emotion is insignificant, it does not exist), but I could not strike you there. Beat you to the ground - make you whimper, no. My body, broken - and that weapon rusted with the stain of defeat. One glance, past the lanterns - you saw. You followed, as if a lost puppy. (Yes, yes, come closer.). But no, you could not near me - dangerous, violent, but yet welcoming. Air lingering in toxicity, one move could be the end of you and I. Down the streets, into the mouth of the city before us. Sharp towers, sharp shapes - jutting out and threatening to cut. Still, you followed, whimpering dog, and so tense, cautious. There was something (but still, you, and everyone felt like nothing). And then, a barking voice, a single signal - I had left you, ragged dog. Pitiful mutt on the streets - how dare you steal my face, blue eye. Such resentment, should I be able to feel, would be there. You earned his favour, his interests - but you were nothing but a rebel. Maybe then, I was nothing but a slave. .... Oh, but that face - single wag of the tail. Perhaps there was more. ... No. Impossible. You are the enemy. You are the decay. Pursue me no further. It will get you nowhere.

[smokkfiskur-blog]

The White Dragon - of eyes so blue, an innocent mockery of past. Hvaða fortíð? Memory - I have none, fleeting and leaving me solidified. Þegar ég flyt, brjóta ég. Gears, málm - merkið mig svo. You circle, you are intoxicating. How you provoke my envy - oh, my hate. En ég er vél? Tilfinning er ekki til. Straight lines - curve in, enclose me, ensnare me. It is you, at every turn that I see. It is you, of whom triggers these petty responses. To serve the King - I would. En þú sýndi mér meira, svo miklu meira. ... I am lost. I am prisoner - but I am not. That light, at the end of the road, I struggle toward. Faltering, gears against metal - the awkward wiring of my brain. Take me, then - serpent. Show me what it is, this King of ours gawks over. En að lokum, ég get ekki andað án þín. Lifandi. Dafna. Tilgangslaust án þín.

[smokkfiskur-blog]

His Thousand Eyes, watching him. As if but a hawk - but not, and those eyes, so precise - not just his own! Something of mechanical wonders, of desire and gleam. Reminding him that he too, was his little machine. But no - he was not, that dog, uncollared but so awkwardly bound. He snapped and turned, struck at his half, but never his master. Never the taint that had corrupted him, but at his soul. The pigs? Not this dog's worry, but the one. There was hope for the metal arm - but yet! Just before the swine had aimed to snap his little pet. Break him in two - as if that robot waltzed free from his grasp, none can have. None can have, but the aggressor. The Blue Eyed beast that the King would too, have dead.