mkaugust
creating a liminal space
August; Wolfstar& Moonchaser fanfic; original poetry @mkaugustpoetry ; they/them; late 20s, Ace, Queer
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𝐄𝐘𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊
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Vladimir Mayakovsky, from a letter featured in "Love in the Heart of Everything; The Correspondence between Vladimir Mayakovsky & Lili Brik, 1915-1930,"
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Little Harry holding Sirius' hand/finger. A godfather and godson. Yes, that's a wedding ring on Sirius' finger, he's married to James and Lily, a happy family. 🖤
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Your words take a trip through my lungs.
I breathe your whispers in,
Catch them in my throat,
Swallow them whole.
They don't stay,
My body won't absorb.
They take a trip through my lungs and I
Choke
As they find their way back out,
Harsh in my nose.
Next time try my skin;
Whispers embed better there.
Less resistance.
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Hi! I am SO in love with the new art you posted of wolfstar in a nightclub, but I have a really hard time with flashing images, so I was wondering if you would be willing to share the images in non-gif form too. I understand if not, but thanks a million if you can!
Of course! Sorry, I didn’t think of adding a link to a non-gif one earlier x)Here it is in its original form:
(Gif version)
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WIP Wednesday!
Kent spotted Cam marking up his crease and stopped to watch briefly. There was always something so endearing about goalies doing their thing, skating back and forth in that calculated shutter step before getting down to settle in, sliding between the posts as if to acquaint themselves with an old friend. Cam was evidently no different. Kent thought he could maybe forgive him for making so much noise in the morning now.
(Read the first two chapters here)
Really trying to motivate myself to write the last couple scenes of this chapter.
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Tom Killy. Children at the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena, USA, viewing Edgar Degas' 'Little Dancer', 1988.
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Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.
All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.
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Quick late night sketch 🪱🌑 (wip)
Thank you so much @rollercoasterwords for the beautiful writing ♥️
(There will be more)
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I can’t draw so imagine it in your brain but kent in oversized clothes circa 2012 faux fur trenchcoat STORMING down the vegas strip listening to “now that we don’t talk.”
Just absolutely fucking PISSED at the “did you get anxious though? On the way home? Guess that I will never know… NOW THAT WE DON’T TALK” line on his way to the arena and slapshot hitting a puck into the wall that bounces back directly into his own kneecap.
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Hello! Would you be willing to write George Cooper from the Tortall universe? If you'd prefer a different character that's fine I just would love to read something of yours in this fandom. ♥️
Dancing Dove, 11:23am
of COURSE i will write you some George Cooper! here's a little moment of the first time he invites Alan to the Dancing Dove - hope you like it!
read the rest of the ficlets here!
⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️
before the noon bell, dancing dove
George was just getting back from a stroll around the Lower City when his Gift tapped him on the shoulder, saying pay attention, daft boy. He looked around for the source of his Gift’s focus and couldn’t help a delighted grin spreading across his face when he recognized a shock of red hair and purple eyes picking their way through the marketplace crowd. The youth was accompanied by Gareth of Naxen—the younger one—unless George missed his guess. So the lad was in page training, then, he mused as the pair stopped at a stall with armor and weapons for sale. Grin widening with impishness, George slid through the throng of people and tapped the small red-head on the shoulder.
The lad startled badly and turned to look up at him. George was momentarily caught in the sharp gaze of those strange purple eyes, but recovered quickly enough that the page didn’t notice.
“So—it’s the young sprout with purple eyes. I was wonderin’ if you’d fallen into a well.”
To his pleased surprise, the lad grinned back at him. “I’ve been at the palace.”
Master Gareth interrupted then, breaking off their conversation with his suspiciousness. George introduced himself with a bow and, on a whim he’d never be able to explain to himself, invited them for a drink at the Dove. By all rights, he should have stayed in public, shouldn’t have brought two pages—one of which would likely be Prime Minister—into the heart of his kingdom. But he had a good feeling about the little red-haired lad, and besides, the invitation made his Gift curl up like a contented cat in a sunbeam.
He signaled to Solom for ale and lemonades and settled in with Gary and Alan at his customary table, subtly waving off his curious inner circle of deputies. Gary’s questioning was expected, his sharp mind on display, guessing George’s real position within minutes of sitting down. Alan stayed quiet, sipping his drink and seeming to just take it all in. His face betrayed nothing, no sign of approval or distaste as George named himself as Corus’ King of Thieves, the Lower CIty’s Rogue. It was frustrating to be unable to get a read on the young sprout—the lad’s own Gift canceled his own out. Oddly, he wanted to know everything about Alan, was itching to know what Alan thought of George’s life; it was clear he was waiting for all the facts before giving any sort of reaction.
“I like you—” Gary said then, interrupting George’s train of thought. “For all you’re a thief.”
George laughed. “And I like you, Gary—for all you’re a noble. Friends, then?” They sealed it with a handshake. “And you, Alan?” he asked, using every bit of his hard-earned diligence to keep the trepidation out of his voice.
“I…want some more lemonade,” he said, pouring himself a fresh tankard, the hint of smirk hovering around his mouth. George couldn’t help but smile at that; the lad would be keeping George on his toes, for certain. He heard the noon bell ring out over the city and slumped internally; it wouldn’t do for them to spend their whole afternoon in the Court of the Rogue, no matter how much George was enjoying himself.
“You’d best be gettin’ back.” He couldn’t help but make his position clear before they left, though. “If you need anything, send word through Stefan—he works in the palace stables. You’ll find me here most of the time, and if not, ask old Solom. He’ll fetch me quick enough.”
Both pages shook his hand after standing; George suppressed a jolt when the feel of Alan’s hand seemed to send a shock up his arm.
“You’ll be seeing us, then,” Alan promised with all the gravitas of a vow of fealty. “Good day to you.”
George watched them leave with a smile on his face. He had a distinct feeling that the next few years were going to be quite interestin’ indeed.
#ooooh i love this!#tortall#song of the lioness era#you write George so well!!#the curiosity the intrigue the subtly of him watching Alan#i love it all#yeah George you are in for an interesting time for sure!!#george cooper#alanna of trebond
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Train travel manages to remain the best part of it all.
Fic research is getting a bit pricey.
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It’s all about who you look for in a crowded room. That’s where your heart belongs.
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