so i made this post and saw that a lot of people were having similar blog issues. REBLOG THIS and follow me IF you are a larrie sticking around until the end.. we need to stick together. i will be following!!!!! I NEED U AND U NEED ME WE NEED EACH OTHER… let’s find each other
I was fully awake, I felt the weight of his arm around my waist. Hearing him
breathing and just because there was the chance of looking at him, without him
noticing it… I slowly opened my eyes.
A little bit of sunlight creeped into the room and made it possible for me to
be able to just admire his beautiful face. He looked so peaceful and at the
same time, he looked like a little fluffy puppy with his messy hair. I couldn’t
resist and slightly stroke through it…
No plans, we promised each other… We were far away from everyone and finally
got some peace and quality time the way we waited for. We’ve waited for this
moment way too long.
My limbs started to make clear that last night wasn’t that peaceful, as amazing
he made me feel again and again…But my legs felt still wobbly and my arms hurt
from the need of holding on so tight to him… I, somehow, made it to get out of
bed and grabbed his shirt, which was laying on the floor - I felt like I was
wearing a dress. His clothes would always be way too big for me.
I went to this huge window on the other side of the room and felt so, so
happy…just being here and having this moment. Seeing the sun rise…the night
turning into morning, the water staring to sparkle like diamonds as the sun
slowly came up. As she filled not just the water, but also the beach and slowly
everything around with the most beautiful colours there were.
“Why did you had to leave the bed…You’re so comfty…”, he mumbled right behind
me and I felt his arms slowly moving around my waist and his chin resting on my
“It’s so beautiful…How could I ignore such an amazing sunrise?”, I smiled and
leaned against him. “You’re beautiful.” I turned my head and kissed his cheek.
“Morning…” “Come back to bed, love, it’s way too early…” “I know…”, I said, as
I took one more look at the beach and the quiet surroundings… before he grabbed
my hand and pulled me back to bed
A/N : I’m on a roll but I think I’ll post the third in three or more since I’m having a writer’s block after this part. Enjoy this one! Feedbacks are highly appreciated! Also, tagging @moonlight53, it’s finally updated haha!
The next Friday evening, you walk out of the MACUSA building, after a
long day at work. Several newcomer wizards from Ireland had arrived to New York
this morning, and by several, you mean a ton of them. It seems that they want
to have a vacation here in New York.
Your day was filled with filling forms of wand permit, and right now,
your hand feels like a rock. You’ve tried to stretch it, pull it, massage it,
everything, but it’s still sore.
You look up to the sky, and see it’s already dark, with snow starting to
fall. The black sky and the fluttering snow remind you of the incident that
happened last week. Your sisters were more than delighted to see you came home
in one piece. They had thought Mary Lou and her crazy cult burned you alive or
You told Tina and Queenie about what happened between you and Credence,
and with a gleeful face, Queenie exclaimed: “Our little [Name] is in love!” You
denied it, obviously, but with her ability, you couldn’t hide anything from
them. Tina then gave you a long lecture about how you should be careful with
No-Majs, how they will kill you, and that what might happen.
You dismissed her with a scoff, claiming her paranoid. Yet, deep in your
heart, some of her words had stuck inside you. Being the youngest of the three,
they have always protected you, after your parents had died of dragon pox. But
you always manage to try to protect yourself, relieving their burden.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see a familiar face.
He is giving out pamphlets to the people walking past him, or more like
trying to. People just ignore him and keep walking by. You decide to approach
him, seeing there’s none of his family member in sight. As you approach him,
you can’t help but notice that he has no coat on, only a jacket. And the color
on his face shows that the he has been outside, there perhaps, for a few hours.
“Can I have one?” you ask from behind him, poking his shoulder.
He looks genuinely surprised when he hears your voice, asking for the
pamphlets. Credence turns around, eyes still cast downward, and hands you one
of them. You probably will throw it to the fireplace or something, but
obviously you won’t tell him that. For now, your attention fixes on him only.
“Thank you…” he says quietly. You swear you see a tiny smile on the
corner of his mouth.
“You look cold, Credence. Care for some coffee?” you offer him. And it
is true. Up close, you can see him slightly shivering.
“I… I can’t,” he replies, avoiding your gaze once more by looking at the
pamphlets in his hand.
“Why can’t you? Please, I insist. You look very ill, Credence,” you push
on. He hesitates as his grip on the pamphlets tightens.
“…Mother… She would be furious… If she knew I am abandoning my job…”
he says. The way he says it makes him sounds like a soldier. Or a puppet.
Always ready to listen, to act upon the string controlled by the puppeteer.
“Oh, come on now. No mother would want any harm to her child! Come on,
let’s get you something warm.”
You gently take the pamphlets from his hand, and neatly place it in his
trousers’ pocket. He freezes when you do so. After you put them in his pocket,
you see the scars on his palm have healed. You will have to thank Queenie for
teaching you to make magical band aids later.
“Let’s go,” you say.
He walks beside you, eyes cast downward, and body posture inward. He
seems scared of something. You consider taking his hand in yours, to calm him
down. Or perhaps not. It will be extremely awkward, and if someone from MACUSA,
or your sister sees you holding hands with him? You will be burned on a stake.
You decide the latter. Looking at him, he seems to be lost in thought as
his eyes glances to the stores with Christmas decorations on it. It’s the end
of November, but the stores in this particular are have put up the Christmas
decorations. ‘It’s too early for this,’ you think to yourself.
The lights decorating the Christmas tree inside the store shine
brightly, bringing a warm atmosphere to your surroundings. The smell of cocoa
and baked goods also fills your nose, bringing forth the Christmas joy before
“Tell me Credence, does your family celebrate Christmas too?”
He looks at you for a second, before looking down again.
“Mother says that it is not necessary… Because of the money we would
waste…” he says. “And… The precious time we have… Should be to spread our
Hearing him breaks your heart. No wonder he always looks so sad and
lonely. Not to mention the scars on his hand… You wonder if his mother did it
to him too…?
“Ah! Here we are!” you exclaim, suddenly stopping in front of a small
café. You enter first, with Credence following behind you. He blinks in the
sudden temperature change, the heat of the building warming his cold body.
You pick a seat in the corner, far from the glass window, in case
someone spots you.
“What do you want Credence?” you ask, handing him the menu. You already
know what to order, since you always go here every Friday evening. Getting a
reward for yourself after a hard working week.
Credence looks at the menu with such concentration, and the way his
brows furrow with each other makes you smile. He looks like a little kid on his
first time in a café. The thought makes you think again. Or is it his first
You look up to him, making an eye contact for a moment. Credence calls
your name with a slight fear and hesitation, and the way he says it melts your
“I… Don’t know what I want…”
“Oh? Is this your first time going to a café?”
He nods. You were right after all.
You call the waiter and order two large mugs of cocoa, with the special
Christmas cookies on the side. The waiter, Josh, knows you, and he teases,
“Getting a little steamy in here, eh?” You lightly smack him on his arm and
tell him to mind his own business. He just chuckles and gives your order to the
Back to Credence. He’s currently examining the interior of the café,
silently admiring how wondrous the sight was. Everything he had known in life
has always been about his little family, and his abusive mother. He feels a
flutter in his chest. Little did he know, the sensation he’s feeling is called
“Credence?” you call him.
“Yes…?” he replies, breaking out of his trance.
“Are you… Okay?” you ask, testing the waters.
“I am fine… I suppose…”
“Are you sure…?”
“Do you… Maybe… Want to talk about it…?”
He nods again.
You tilt your head questioningly. He takes out his right hand, showing
it to you. You remain silent. Then, with his left, he pulls up sleeve and shows
several scars, new scars, with marks similar like a belt. Your blood boils with
anger and sadness, seeing how his face shifts to embarrassment and pure sorrow.
“Who did this Credence?” you ask, trying to hide the anger in your
voice. Tears start to run down his face.
“M-Mother would punish me… For not listening to her… Or coming home
late…” he sobs.
You reach out your hand to touch the red scars, before stopping and ask
him for permission. He nods, trying to contain his sobs. You run your hand
softly along the rough scars, some has healed, and some still new. Even some of
them don’t only leave scars, but also ugly, purple bruises. His skin is rough
to the touch, proof that he has been abused repeatedly.
Credence suddenly pulls his hand and covers it back, and immediately
wipes his tears. You can see he cringes when he does so. The rough fabric
must’ve come in contact with the scars.
“Two large mugs of cocoa, and fresh baked Christmas cookie. Enjoy!” Josh
says as he places down your orders. So that’s why he makes the sudden movement.
You lift one of the mugs and place it in front of him. Credence looks at
you, and you smile.
“It’s for you. My treat, it’s almost Christmas too,”
“W-Why are you so kind to me…?” he asks, slowly touching the handle on
the mug as if it’s the most delicate thing.
“I… I don’t know myself, to be honest,” you start. He looks at you in
fear, also with worry. “I just think… That you’ve always looked so sad… And
so lonely… And all I want to do is to help you,” you continue. He hesitantly
looks up at you. “But being me, I have no idea how to help you. So I just do my
own thing. Does that sound weird?”
He shakes his head.
“You… You have helped me in some way…” he says. Then, he smiles.
Even though it’s a tiny smile, you know it’s that kind of smile, the
rare one, which pulls the strings in your heart in a cruel way. Which empty
your stomach and fills it with butterflies. The one that blocks your airway,
hitching your breath in your throat.
He is beautiful.
The smile on your face widens, and you can hear your heartbeat going
faster. You make a mental note to see him more often.
“U-Um! Anyway! Let’s drink the cocoa b-before it gets cold! Haha!” you
stutter. His smile caught you off guard, and it breaks the image you’re holding
in front of him.
“Yes… Let us,” he says.
Credence sips the cocoa, and you see his eyes widen at the taste. It’s
something he has never tasted before. A sweet sensation that fills his whole
mouth. A joy he has never felt before.
“Is it good?” you ask excitedly.
He nods at you and sips a little more, getting addicted to the taste.
But then, in the back of his mind, he knows that this, this, little joy you
give to him is only temporary. And that he shouldn’t get used to the feeling.
Because at the end of the day, you will be gone. And he will go back to
the hellhole he calls home.
After the both of you finish up the cocoa and the cookies, you paid the
bill and walk out of the café with Credence. You can tell he feels bad for not
paying what he bought, because he keeps saying ‘Thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ the
whole time you’re in the café after your little chitchat.
“It’s okay Credence, besides, you walked me home last week. So it really
is okay,” you said.
He insists on walking you home, but you decline his offer, thinking it
would be trouble if his mother finds out about this. After you say that, he
looks sad, yet understands your reasoning.
“If you want, let’s meet up every Friday here, Credence,” you say. He
looks up and his eyes give a glint of anticipation.
“B-But… I don’t want you to waste your money on me…”
“Oh it’s okay! We don’t have to always buy things! I’ll make some and
bring it here, how about it?”
He hesitates about your offer, but he reluctantly nods.
“Great! Now, off you go Credence, be careful,” you say as you walk up to
Gathering your courage, you give him a peck on the cheek. Yours and his
face turns bright red, and you giggle at his reaction. You skip away from him,
before turning around and say one last thing:
Homicide LOTS season 7 may have had its issues, but it still had some great episodes and truly incredible moments/scenes — like this one from “The Same Coin”. Mr. Hawkland and I were both frozen with tension watching this last night and it sure felt like neither of us took a breath until it was over.
This is just another one of those IMHO perfect moments of television that so few other shows have ever matched. The way the underlying tension builds as everyone is trying to diffuse the situation brewing between Munch & Gharty until it explodes, then Gharty’s monologue about what really happened to him in Vietnam and Munch’s confession of the guilt that still haunts him (and oh what another great little piece of backstory for Munch!) It feels like a piece of theater, not tv, like some of the great moments from Season 1&2 of the show.
(Also, shallow point, but Tim manhandling John to hold him back…uh…yeah. That does things to me it probably shouldn’t in this context but DAMN. And I love Ballard slapping Stu, hah! She is so great. I love every woman on this show.)
I was ten in 1970, a shy kid growing up in a scrub-oak suburb south of San Francisco. Our house was pitched on stilts sunk in a steep hillside, looking out onto a little arroyo and into the house of two men I loved like uncles (and more deeply than some of the uncles whose DNA I shared).
But besides me and my older brother, Walter, my mom, and my dad, everybody on our street despised Pat and Lou. At a time when it was still a crime in California for one man to give another man a blowjob, the neighbors hated them because they shared the same enormous bed, draped in a regal turquoise coverlet. Hated them because Lou stayed home like moms did, trolling Safeway for steaks and stuffed potatoes to fix for Pat when he got home from the office.
(Why didn’t my parents share the general loathing for Pat and Lou, a disgust expressed through passive avoidance, active shunning, and the occasional high-pitched catcall? I discovered later that my mom, bless her, is a total fag hag. And my dad always hated bullies—it trumped his ambivalence about the gay thing.)
Pat and Lou did cocktail hour nightly from a pair of velour bucket chairs, in their beam-ceilinged, ranch-style canyon house overlooking masses of scarlet and purple irises under the oaks. They put on matching poplin jumpsuits and corduroy house moccasins to sip Gibsons, tossing nuts to Kurt, their sleek miniature schnauzer, from fingers studded with big-jeweled cocktail rings. On nights when my parents would go to the Iron Gate restaurant for shrimp scampi and saltimbocca, they dropped us boys off at Pat and Lou’s for babysitting.
On those nights, Lou would cook us crazy shit our mom never fixed, food so rich no adult should ever serve it to a ten-year-old. There were casseroles that used Monterey Jack as a suspension medium for olives, ground veal, and button mushrooms from a can. And there were Lou’s famous burgers, so rich and salty, so crusted with a mixture of caramelized onions, Roquefort crumbles, and Grey Poupon—a thick impasto gilded beneath the electric broiler element—I could only ever eat half before feeling sick. I loved every bite.
Looking back, I recognize in Lou’s burgers my first taste of food that didn’t give a fuck about nutrition or the drab strictures of home economics. They were calibrated for adult pleasure, acutely expressive of a formalized richness— exactly the type of thing James Beard taught Americans to eat (for all I know, Lou’s recipe was straight out of Beard). I see them now, those burgers, as unflinchingly, unapologetically, magnificently queer.
Within a couple weeks of the tour Harry was still on his new girl every week kick, and it was starting to get the better of you. You were moody and couldn’t focus on anything. It was stressing you out and affecting the work that you were supposed to be doing. You were desperate for a reprieve, but the only way to put an end to it was to spill everything.