murkmurks

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amir with a spear

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seeing you for the first time

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the masque of the red death, emil melmoth.

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none of the other blorbo charts satisfied me so here's a blank template of the one I just made. feel free to use

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it was ✶⋆ 🧜‍♂️ ��𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓎 🧜‍♂️ ⋆✶!!

some sketchy mer designs for tarquin and ashur, belated for mermay. (credit to @rookfeathers for the original fish color inspo with betta fish and red-tailed sharks! ✨)

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playing the smallest fiddle before she murks ya

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Udmurt Girl from Tatarstan, Russia

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Cute Lil Picrew inspired by my Thasstira fic, plus a snippet from it below the cut <3

Koltira’s eyes roamed over him—devouring, judging, calculating—as he indulged his worst impulses. But even under the weight of that gaze, Thassarian couldn’t begin to guess what he might be thinking. Was he enjoying this? Did it help? Thassarian hoped it helped. That it gave Koltira some measure of release, of retribution, of control. But somewhere beneath that hope was a sick pit of doubt. Maybe he’s disgusted with me. Koltira could’ve done worse. Far worse. His strikes had been brutal, yes—but nothing Thassarian hadn’t survived before. Nothing permanent. He was holding back, in his way. Perhaps in lingering respect for their brotherhood. Or maybe he was just building it all up to watch him squirm. Thassarian tried to offer that. Tried to be good for him. He wanted to suffer well—anything to keep him close just a little longer. Maybe that would make it be enough. Maybe that would wash away the discord between them. But when Koltira’s eyes lingered too long—locked to his—something shifted. The expression on his face twisted. Agitated. Tense. Maybe I’m looking too intensely. Being too loud. Too much. Thassarian swallowed and tried to clear his gaze. He quieted the moans in his throat, forced his expression to go still, less open, less pleading. He was supposed to be hurting. But that only seemed to make things worse.

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just posting all my writing wips at this point. god I miss being creative

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koltira&thassarian forever. my weakness for mean twink elves and bigger, overly caring boyfriends will never go away and plague me for life. it’s chronic. it’s terminal

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: World of Warcraft Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Koltira Deathweaver/Thassarian Characters: Thassarian, Koltira, Various Lordaeron Soldier OCs, Faltora Dawnweaver, Merriel (mentioned) Additional Tags: Pining, so much pining, post breakup yearning, Sylvanas is here somewhere, Lor'themar too, and the Farstriders, Pre-Scourge, Build up to Wrath, reference to events of WCIII Series: Part 2 of your soul and mine Summary:

sequel to stranger in a strange land.

Thassarian survived the Quel'thalas expedition, but he and Koltira were forced to part. They both grapple with the reality of their changed lives as the world marches towards an inevitable end.

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sorry i never replied. everyday is blending together and im losing sense of time

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Everybody remember to thank Koltira and Thassarian for inventing gay people

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It's really funny when people think Iran is a desert cause we literally have forests in the north?? The Caspian sea is right up there?? Buddy they're still shoveling snow in Sabalan lmaoo

Visual reference:

Sabalan mountain, Ardabil

Masal, Guilan

Saravan forest park, Guilan

Caspian sea

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I love the idea of dead gods. Not in the sense of “hey i killed something supernaturally strong” but in the sense of “i killed it and it’s still a god.” It is still worshipped. prayers are still answered. miracles are performed in its name, even as it lies pierced by a thousand swords and burning with chemical fire. even as it drifts through vacuum, decapitated and bleeding molten rock. in cosmic spite of being shot through each eye and hurled into a plasma reactor, it still radiates the power of the divine in a way that primitive death cannot smother. the nature of godchild is not so simple as to be tied to the mortality, or immortality, of any living being.

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FEAST, GLADLY / MOON STEALER / WARM BLOODED

i hold werewolves as both a symbol of transformation and of self-actualization; they are the other, and the beast, and they are us. this art was created for october’s print club; it was also created for me (and for you).