a bell is a cup until it is struck

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wire - follow the locust (1988)

i had a whole text post written up about how underrated 80s wire is but i thought i’d let the music speak for itself instead. oil a mink, indeed.

Silence is Golden -- Chapter Nine

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6 |CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 8 | AO3 | FF.NET ]

tinuviel-undomiel said:

Mute Belle Prompt: the night of the big storm, Belle was out so winds up staying at the pawn shop with Mr. Gold until it passes.

I personally said:

It’s my damn birthday and my gift to myself is watching y'all freak out about this.  Happy birthday me and happy birthday Tinny!

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oil smudged // wolfstar

au where remus is an artist and sirius the unwitting model. 3502 words.

read on ao3

~*~

Remus saw him and his fingers itched to sketch. For a moment, that very feeling was startling – it was something that had become almost alien to him, so long since he could honestly say he’d felt it – and then the next, he was scrambling for paper and pencil. It wasn’t the time or the place really – the coffee shop was tiny, and busy enough that he’d had to ask to join another couple just to have a place to sit down. He nearly elbowed his hot chocolate off the table in his urgency, drawing bewildered eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much when finally, pencil met paper and something good happened.

It was his final year, the final project deadline was encroaching and Remus was hopelessly uninspired. He’d spent days just sitting staring at the blank page on his sketch book, or at an unmarked canvas, and wishing for something to come to him. The pray hadn’t been answered until now. Now, the curves of a face came easy - the swirl of curls, the angle a nose, a swooping neck and broad shoulders. His eyes flickered towards the man, who took long strides in boots that jingled, and back to his page and back again. The stranger was unaware of him, thankfully, although Remus wasn’t sure whether it was because he didn’t want to get caught staring, or didn’t want the man’s relaxed expression to break in the middle of transferring it to page.

Remus drew the lapel on his leather jacket, and noted the clipped gold nail polish on his fingers. He scribbled a note in the margin to remember that, but he doubted he would forget so easily. Those hands shoved into his back pockets as he waited, and Remus was perhaps a little ashamed to admit just how long he spent committing the sight to the page.

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