nice bloke

You have this… friend. Really nice bloke, buys you a beer when you’re feeling down, kills the people who’ve wronged you, etc. You don’t actually know his name though.

Recently, I’ve been really getting into Taylor Swift. I love Taylor Swift a lot. I saw her twice on the 1989 Tour. No, no joking. I’m a big fan of lyrics and I like songs that make me feel.
—  Jimmy “The King of Goths” Havoc, British professional wrestler
old T-shirt


A/N : For my first ever Harry one shot, I hope this is good and does ‘From The Dining Table’ justice.

Word Count : 1700+

Summary : Harry sees a picture of Y/N on her new boyfriends Instagram, and it breaks his heart.

                                                       * * *

Light cascades through the half turned blinds, torching the room inside and revealing tiny dust particles dancing around Harry’s head. Behind his translucent eyelids he stirs as a disgruntled huff escapes his chapped, raw lips and the sour taste and smell of alcohol and cheap, sweaty sex floods Harry’s nostrils before he’s taken his first breath. 

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Genre: fluff
Wordcount: 645  
Summary:  “I’ve never been great at drinking, I think. And Crowley, Snow, I think I’m a little drunk on you.”                                                 


I’ve never been great at drinking. I think it has something to do with the vampirism and my body just absorbing everything a lot quicker than regular people would. Snow is worse, however.

He’s just had his second shot of Vodka, and his cheeks are already flushed, eyes glinting. And he would probably kill me if he knew that most of the time I still call him Snow in my head.

I feel a warm flutter every time I look at him now. He’s half sitting, half sprawling on the grubby, old sofa that Penny brought to their London flat, and he’s listening to one of her stories about her trip to America that she has just returned from. Micah is sitting next to her, one of his hands absently resting on her plump thigh. He’s a nice bloke; quiet, with lovely dark skin and a pretty smile. They’re beaming, the two of them. I wonder if Simon and I beam like that, too.

Penny’s story is something about Florida and merewolves and alligators. I think it’s supposed to be funny, but I don’t really listen to it. My head feels fuzzy.

For a moment, I think back to my fifth year at Watford; the endless nights spent down in the catacombs. Back when Simon and I were still sworn enemies and all my dreams were of blood and gore and tears. And some sad wanking I wasn’t particularly proud of. Back when I thought that one day, I’d have to die at the hands of the chosen one. Or worse: kill him.

I would drink on those nights. I smuggled bottles of expensive brandy that father kept away in our family home cellar, where they’d collect a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. And then I’d sit there, next to my mother’s grave, casting “There’s light at the end of the tunnel!” just to brighten the crypt a little and grimacing at the irony of those words.

The first time I drank, I got wasted. In hindsight, I probably should have known that mixing roastbeef, rats’ blood, and brandy wasn’t going to end well. It was vile. Even for me.

I scoffed back then, wiping my mouth and trying not to breath in too deeply, staring at the glimmer slowly swirling under the ceiling, then at the drained rats. There’s light at the end of the tunnel” , I’d think. My ass!

In some of those nights, I’d crawl back into bed just before sunrise and lay there, listening to Snow’s slow, steady breaths, whilst my bed started spinning and my face felt numb.

I’d watch him; how the sun would slowly creep up on him through our windows (the idiot would never shut them, just to take the piss), and it would paint his mess of a hairstyle golden, red and orange. You’re burning me , I’d think. You’re the only fire I can’t figure out how to handle .

He’s still burning me now, even without his magic. Here in his living room, listening to Penny. And he’s laughing and grinning and just beaming .

Later into the evening, I kiss him on his forehead. Maybe on his cheeks and his nose and lips, too, just because I’m that weak. Or maybe just because I like kissing him there. He’s kissing me, too. And doing that nice thing with his chin, smoothing the hair off my neck and brushing his hands over my arms.

I’ve never been great at drinking, I think. And Crowley, Snow, I think I’m a little drunk on you.

The room is dark, but I see his face in front of me; so clear and bright that I’m almost sure that there has to be a little bit of magic left inside him. He’s incandescent.

There’s light at the end of the tunnel , I think, and I kiss him once more.

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Time Upon Once, Ch.3 (3/?)

Summary:  Killian Jones is a bailbonds man, living in Boston and doing his own thing. But on his 29th birthday, a kid knocks on his door and claims to be his son. What happens when Killian is forced to face his past along with a mystery prophecy about his own purpose in life?

Rating: M (eventually)

A huge thank you to @tnlph @businesscasualprincess and @blessed-but-distressed  for beta duties and @shady-swan-jones for the banner!

Tagging a few people that showed interest in this story: @lk0622 @nowforruin @sambethe @xemmaloveskillianx  @l-e-x-a-xd @profoundlyfadedprincess @once-uponacaptain and @icecubelotr44   (want to be tagged? let me know and I’ll do it)

on Tumblr: I II


I know… it’s been ages. But I’m back to this story now! I cannot commit to a weekly update, because writing this fic is a lot of work that involves plotting, rewatches, tweaks, backstory and a huge amount of detail that is really draining for me. So bear with me. I will commit to have an update every two weeks.
All comments and reviews of encouragement will be highly appreciated

Chapter III

The sound of knocking at the door interrupted Killian’s first cup of coffee in the morning. He went to answer, still absentmindedly holding his mug in his right hand.

Regina was standing on the other side of the door, wearing a sensible grey dress and a coat, holding a basket full of red apples. She was poised to speak, but whatever words she had died on her lips the second she got a good look at him, her eyes widening as she trailed her gaze back and forth over his body. It was then that Killian realized he hadn’t bothered to put on his shirt before opening the door, his bare chest attracting the Mayor’s attention before she lowered her gaze appreciatively to where his jeans were hanging low on his hips. Killian contemplated acknowledging her interest with a suggestive remark, but he ultimately decided against it. He had zero intention of following up on those remarks with any type of dalliance with his son’s adoptive mother. Some doors - much like his heart - were better to remain closed. He settled for a soft clear of his throat and a raised eyebrow in her direction.

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kind-of-awkward-situation  asked:

14 and Fitzsimmons for the Kiss thing please? Your blog is pretty cool btw :)

okay so this massively got away from me, so yeah. mini novel under the cut. Rated T, I guess?

He was halfway through his emails when the double doors to his office slammed open and the crazy brunette who visited him earlier stormed in. Jemma, a tiny voice in his mind whispered and he felt a strange feeling overwhelm him briefly, disappearing quickly as it came.

“Ms Simmons, how can I help you? If you’re looking for the exit, I’m afraid you just walked through it.” Fitz said dryly, making no move to stand up. Instead he stared blankly at her, waiting for her next move.

Jemma stared at him for a moment with an odd expression on her face, like it pained her to see him. Again, he felt a flash of an emotion overcome him for the briefest of seconds, and a tiny voice whispered in his head, I’m hurting her. I don’t want to hurt her.

Shaking off the peculiar feeling, Fitz laced his fingers together and rested his hands against the polished wood of his desk. “Any minute now, I’m waiting.”

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Animation Terrorists - NME cover article 17 March 2001

The first Gorillaz Interview! 

Kicking out the bland, cooking up the alternative. The future is coming on and, say Gorillaz, it belongs to them

Mark Beaumont

The courier carries the package into the reception at arm’s length. Sweating profusely, he place it tentatively on the receptionist’s desk, whimpers “sign here” and runs screaming from the building. The parcel bucks wildly, rocks violently on its edges. From inside comes a muffled “Kon-nichi-wa, NOODLE!”, and suddenly two small, Japanese, completely flat legs karate-kick through each side. Two completely flat arms punch out of the bubble wrap and a completely flat Japanese girl’s head pops out of the top. With a gurgled cry of ‘Sayonara! NOODLE!”, Noodle, the youngest and coolest android guitarist in rock, jumps down from the reception desk, waddles quickly to the nearest lift and pushes the button for the 25th floor.
In the NME office all cartoon-freaked bastard hell has broke loose. 2D, the black-eyed, blue-haired pretty boy singer is spray painting ‘ZOMBIE HOP HOP’ and ‘CHRIS MARTIN SUCKS FURRY COCK’ across the office stereo. Russel, the hulking NYC hardman drummer., rummages through drawers stealing any CDs by the Wu-Tang Clan and Shakin’ Stevens. Meanwhile Murdoc, the scrag faced, green-toothed, Beezlebub-worshipping bassist with the halitosis like a badger’s scrotum, has taken over the editor’s office and is offering all female staff “some satanic slap ‘n’ tickle in me Winnebago”. Suddenly he spies a copy of NME’s ‘Popstars’ issue, howls with demonic rage and eats it.

“I think this is a perfect example of how fucking diabolical it’s getting.” He slavers. “Where you have to have a programme where you pick your own pop stars. What the fuck is going on?”
So says the warped and wicked Svengali behind Gorillaz, animation wiv additood, a vibrant alternative to boring old Realbloke Rock, the first ever cartoon band to call Bob The Builder a “cunt” and back it up with baseball bats. They’re the Technicolor Pop Blitzkreig behind the stupendous ragga-western drug ditty ‘Clint Eastwood’ and they’re here to infiltrate NME like a cartoon foot and mouth disease. See them go, spreading like wildfire between the pages, trampling in the faces of Terris, until they reach the cover where they set fire to toilet rolls and shove them under Daft Punk’s helmets. They may be two-dimensional, but Gorillaz are way more real than the shallow plastic edifices of most pop stars. With the shadowy figures of Blur’s Damon Albarn, hip-hop producer Dan The Automator and Tank Girl creator Jamie Hewlett lingering in the background they have come to drag the concept of band manufacture into the next dimension.

“This isn’t getting a bunch of 17-year-olds with pretty faces who can do backflips with big tits and making a record for them,” Murdoc sneers, pulling a dart from his pocket and throwing it at a picture of Fatboy Slim on the wall, missing and hitting 2D in the head instead. “We’ve got a bit more integrity than that”.
“I guess it’s a bit like Eminem,” 2D muses, pulling the dart from his temple, “in that we’re reflecting what’s out there anyway. I just think we’re doing it in a much more intelligent way than he could dream of doing it.”
And with that, Murdoc swings his feet onto the editor’s desk, loses his balance and falls backwards into a filing cabinet, causing a shower of objects, including three bowling balls, a cricket bat and a large anvil to fall onto his head. Three black ravens start circling his cranium.
“Wanker,” scorns 2D.
“Pair of assholes,” tuts Russel.
“NOODLE!” shouts Noodle.

Who let the Gorillaz out!?! Several freaks of fantastical fate, it transpires. While on a routine ram-raiding mission with his gang of scuzzball twat-mates two years ago, Murdoc pile-drove into the window of Uncle Norm’s Organ Emporium in Crawley, where 2D was working part-time. Russel was next on board, fresh from New York where he’d been possessed by the spirit of Del That Funkee Homosapien when Russel was the only survivor of a random and savage drive-by. Sheesh, Rus, you must have felt lucky not to get rubbed out.
Russel: “….”
Sorry. That was in bad taste. The day that their advert for a guitarist appeared in NME, a FedEx parcel arrived on Murdoc’s doorstep, ten-year-old Tamagotchi axe-toddler Noodle leapt out, having posted herself from Osaka, and Gorillaz were go! Their first gig at the legendary Camden Brownhouse started a shotgun-fuelled riot. But most contentious of all are the foggy rumours surrounding the involvement of sometime Gorillaz collaborators Damon, Dan and Jamie. The band claim that they discovered the trio sleeping rough in Leicester Square. But whispers abound that Gorillaz are simply leeching off their famous mates’ credibility.
2D shrugs. “Well it’s nice of you to say that they have any credibility in the first place.”
“When you’re old farts like them,” adds Murdoc, “completely out of ideas, you need to attach yourselves to some young talent.”
Too right, I mean that last Blur album… pffffftt, bloody hell, eh>
2D: “Well you might well have a point there…”
You must’ve thought Damon had gone completely bleedin’ barmy” Going walkabout round Mali, singing nonsense lyrics on the last single…
2D smirks. “As they said in NME, how dare he think he can get away with it!? We thought he was easy fodder, a man who’d lost his way.”
Have you saved their careers?
Murdoc: “We’ve saved Jamie’s. He was washed up. He was doing illustrations for J17 magazine! We’ve given them something interesting to get their teeth into and something to get out of bed for.”

Hmmmm, one senses that there may be a flipside to this argument…
“That story’s a load of bollocks,” says Damon emphatically, clad in baseball cap and chunky B-boy glitter in a west London studio the following day. “They came to us at a party. Me and Jamie used to live together for a while and Murdoc and 2D turned up at a party where we had Sporty Spice, Baby Spice, Pavement, a couple of members of Radiohead, Madonna. No, Madonns wasn’t there, but Kate Moss was there, Marianne Faithful, Keith Allen…”
“The funny thing was,” says Jamie Hewlett, “the following night, Damon got photographed getting some eggs, yet all fucking night the front door was open and not a single fucking journo came upstairs with a camera.”
Midway through recording his “Mali record”, Damon seems enthused and rejuvenated by his involvement with Gorillaz. He praises 2D’s simple yet profoundly impressionistic lyrics and practically speaks in tongues about the band’s forthcoming London gig (at King’s Cross Scala on March 22) claiming “it all goes into the realms of metaphysics and what is real. I won’t be there, though. I’ll be abroad. I’m going to Mongolia that week to hang out with a shaman there.”
“But because there isn’t a human face to it,” Damon continues, “it’s the abstraction which I think is groundbreaking. Hopefully we’ll inspire people to have no boundaries. It’s liberating. The whole idea of them being animated is that they can go anywhere. The only thing it’s limited by is out imagination.”
Gorillaz eponymous debut album is a kind of Frankenstein’s Furby of a record: awash with dark, apocalyptic hip-hop atmosphere and undead reggae grooves, but clashed through with an innocent streak of kindergarten pop. It’s Deltron 3030 playing conkers with ‘13’, it’s Beck punching The Clash outside a pub on Sesame Street and it’s groundbreaking indeed, not least for its rampant eclecticism.
“Coldplay are very conservative,” says Damon. “If what sets itself up as the alternative could get any more conservative than Travis, it just has. It’s melodic and it’s memorable but for all the wrong reaons. This whole stance that ‘we’re only in it for the music’ how many times does that C86 ethos have to get churned out?”
Plus the whole Gorillaz concept is a marketing department’s we dream. In an age when image manipulation has become as precise a science as nuclear fusion, real people with real human drug addictions, skin complaints and ballooning egos simply aren’t considered flawless enough to be pop stars. And real rock musicians are boring, ugly, self-obsessed, have shit hair and stink constantly of stale plectrum. So what could be better than a ready-baked bunch of freakoid mutant meta-pop stars with psycho-rebel personalities that make Oasis look like the Tweenies?
“ I think being in a famous pop band, many years down the line,” says Jamie, cryptically, “will start to restrict you from doing the sort of stuff you want to do because you’ve got to fit into some sort of mould that’s been created for you and if you’re a creative person that stops you from creating. Working with an animated band is the ideal opportunity to let go and do what you’re good at.”
Really though, Damon, this is just an excuse to get out of doing photo shoots, isn’t it?
Involuntarily, Damon gives a sly, knowing grin.
The thing about speed is, Murdoc jabbers, flakes dripping from each nostril, “if you end up being the sort of person who gets into doing cocaine when you go to parties and then you go back to doing speed, you end up saying ‘Give us eighty quid’s worth’ and you get a dirty great sugar bag full…”
Shit shovelling time. We already know about Murdoc’s chronic speed habit that kept him almost permanently blind throughout the ‘90s and his sexual desperation which will see him lunge at anything that once had a pulse in the early hours.
The there are those scurrilous rumours about 2D waking up after the Brits win bed with the three girls from Captain Caveman.
2D sneers. “They were just after the publicity.”
We recently interviewed Bob The Builder and he said of Gorillaz, “The drummer is a nice bloke, the little Asian one I haven’t met but I hear she’s alright. But that singer and that bassist, I hope they catch mildew because I fucking hate them two.” Why would he say such a thing?
2D: “That’s Noel The Builder, isn’t it?”
Murdoc: “ I think I probably shagged his girlfriend or something. Betty the Builder.”
2D: “it’s all there, mate! You wanna read it, you can! I tell you what happened, right. I shagged Noel The Builder’s brother’s girlfriend.”
Murdoc: “He’s a cunt anyway. We’re outta here.”
And with that, Murdoc kick starts a blood-red, completely flat Harley Davidson, Russel, Noodle and 2D leap on the back and they ride it straight through the 25th floor window. The bike vrooms for a few feet, then splutters dead. The band hang in the air for a few seconds, confused, until Murdoc peers downwards, cries “MOTHER FUCKAAAAAAARRRRSSSS!” and they plummet out of sight.
When Gorillaz hit the ground, Gorillaz *bounce*


Hello, peasants. I’m Draco Malfoy


Hello! I’m Tom Felton and I swear I’m a nice bloke. You might remember me acting like a snot nosed brat with a heart of gold in Harry Potter, or as Julian on The Flash more recently. I love animals, being outdoors, and the sound of laughter. Sometimes you can catch me with a guitar out on the street, singing my heart out. I’ve always loved music.

Before I tell you my hangouts, I have to tell you an embarrassing story.

Even though I have always identified as a Slytherin, Pottermore decided I was a Gryffindor and now my whole life is a bloody lie.

Therefore, my google hangouts is reluctant.gryffindor

Come talk to me about Harry potter, various Disney films, forces of nature, the unknown, or anything else.

I love you all already.

Charles Xavier Request: “You’re not jealous, are you professor?”

Request: Hi, can you write an imagine about professor charles xavier and a student reader? they fall for each other but couldnt say anthing because of the school rules and when some other guy asks her out charles get jealous and fluff?? pleassse thank youu <3

Hello my lovely! So I don’t know if it’s my best work, but I’ve tried to give it a real go… And I tried to like, full on inject the fluff but Idk, but I should stop dissing it and like, let you make your own decisions but the request is lovely and I did love it and it was fun writing it :) Also, I’ve used this quote at the end that I love that goes:

“A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous” - Ingrid Bergman (I just needed to reference her so I’m not stealing anything)

Happy Reading!


Also: y/l/n=your last name (sorry, i don’t know the conventional short hand for that, what people usually use, so that’s my best guess XP)

Charles stood in front of the class, spewing meaningless words about science and various mutant-related topics. You tried to concentrate, you really did, but you were right next to the window. Outside looked extremely inviting… you didn’t want to particularly go outside, but you definitely wanted to stare at it. It was incredibly scenic. The way the trees moved ever so slightly with the breeze but always stayed planted solidly…. good metaphor for living your life, you thought. Go with the breeze but always stay firmly planted in your roots… if they were good solid roots…. definitely change your roots if they were homophobic or racist or something…. You shook your head and looked down at your page.
“Glad to see we’re coming out of our daze, miss y/l/n” Charles said from the front. You raised your eyebrows. So now you were miss y/l/n…. you smiled.
“Sorry professor, genetics are fascinating… usually…” you smirked. Charles rolled his eyes.
“Please make sure to pay attention in class, y/n” You smiled and Charles looked away, though you could see he was also trying to hide a smile. You two had been dating for nearly 6 months, though in secret. There were certain policies, this being a school and Charles being a teacher. Teachers and students? Nuh uh. They weren’t allowed… apparently. Which was ridiculous in this case! You were old enough to make your own decisions! You rolled your eyes and looked to your page that was half-filled with notes from when you were concentrating. You shrugged internally, you’d just ask Charles what you’d missed later and maybe have a late-night-1-on-1-tutoring-session, which admittedly would be more snuggling then tutoring but that was ok by you. You heard the shutting of the textbook from the front which meant Charles had finished his lecture. He was always so dramatic, he liked to finish that way. You started packing up your books, ready to head off to whatever the next class was. One of the guys in your year started walking up to you. You were shoving all your textbooks haphazardly into your backpack so barely noticed him until he was right next to you, clearing his throat.
“Huh?” You turned around to face him, just zipping up your bag at the same time. You slipped it on your back. You recognised the guy from around, he was a pretty nice bloke, really sweet, but other than that you didn’t really know too much about him.
“Hey, y/n…. I was just wondering… uh… would… would you… maybe like to go out some time? I mean like… on a date…. maybe… maybe not. It wouldn’t have to be a date…. but I’m really asking ‘cause I’d like to date you…. I’m going to shush now.” He laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Uh…. hey…. I…. well….” you started, trying to say ‘look, sorry, I have a boyfriend’ without saying that because you and Charles were a secret… gosh this was tough.
“Look, I’d love to and all but I can’t, I’m so sorry… I just… can’t have a boyfriend right now is all… I just need to get to a place in my life where I’m happy with myself, but… that was super sweet of you to ask and all and you seem like a lovely guy…. I’m so sorry.” You rubbed the back of your own neck awkwardly, looking at the floor. You swallowed hard, waiting for him to reply.
“Nah, it’s alright. I get it… thanks for not being too harsh though.” He laughed, and you joined in.
“Oh, I coulda been super harsh, I mean, there’s just so much for me to harsh on!” You laughed and he joined.
“Well, see you around y/n” he said, shaking his head but still smiling.
You laughed and turned slightly. There was a slightly disgruntled looking Charles, just looking at you, one eyebrow slightly raising.
“So much to harsh on? A place in my life where I’m happy with myself? That was super sweet of you?” Charles repeated back the phrases slowly, like he was trying to process them. You walked down to him.
“Well, you know professor, I can’t really have a boyfriend right now…” You smirked at him.
“Oh… that’s a shame… I better just like…. let you get on to your next class then.” He shrugged.
“Or… I could stay here?” You asked. Charles smiled.
“Maybe…. maybe I’d let you do that.”
“You never let me do that!”
“Well…..” You furrowed your brow, thinking.
“You’re jealous! You were totally jealous that he asked me out!” You exclaimed.
“Can you blame me?!” Charles exclaimed with an equal amount of force behind his words as your own exasperated ones. You rolled your eyes at him, moving fully over to him and kissing him fully.
“I only like you, you daft sod!” You said as you pulled away. He pecked your lips again.
“Good. Because I only like you too… in fact, I’d go as far as to say I love you.” He leaned in and pecked your lips again but you pulled away in shock.
“You love me?” You asked.
“Of course!… you daft sod” he teased. Tears welled up in your eyes slightly.
“I love you too Charles.” You said, truly meaning every word. Charles looked at a loss for what to say as he looked at you in shock as well. You didn’t have any other words either. There was a moment of complete silence as you both realised the true weight of the words and how the other thought of you and you just leaned in and kissed him again. Someone once said a kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous. Whoever said that couldn’t have been more right.

We Get Worse Things Than Snakes Out Here in Australia

Living in Australia as a kid is strange. You get all the American and British media… television and books. We watch the same shows, and in a lot of ways share the same culture. But none of that belongs here in Australia; it all feels out of place. Christmas specials always reminded me of that. It’s always snowing on television at Christmas time, and I’m watching kids build snowmen and families wear those tacky patterned jumpers, while I’m melting in the the middle of a blistering Australian summer just trying to stay conscious in the heat.

I guess we have a lot of the same urban legends too, the same scary stories and monsters. They travel here one way or another. Serial killer hitch-hikers, werewolves, vampires… all that. But they don’t really belong in Australia. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the Australian landscape, but it’s nothing like the forests or plains you get in Europe or the States. For a start, we call forested parts here “the bush”. The name is bloody appropriate too. A eucalyptus forest is hard going for hikers. The undergrowth is thick and scraggly everywhere other than the paths that have been worn by bushwalkers or animals. If you want to go off the path… well imagine walking through a hedge, filled with thorns and barbs. Now add the very high likelihood of spiders, which aren’t like the little pissy ones you guys get. Big fat spiders with thick ropey webs that tangle around your face and neck if you aren’t watching… Then there’s the risk of snakes, or more dangerous, unseen ledges or cliffs. The whole thing is a huge pain in the arse.

Your monsters wouldn’t fit in here. It’s hard to imagine being chased through the woods by a werewolf when anything bigger than a rabbit has to keep to the paths or find itself tangled up in lantana; but most white kids don’t actually learn much about the old Aboriginal stories. The things which live out in the bush, or those big red deserts. I think about that a lot now. Particularly after living alone in a place called Blackheath in the Blue Mountains. It’s not far from Sydney, the city with the big pretty bridge.

My curiosity was nothing more until recently. Recently things got pretty rough out there on my own. Living alone can really screw with your head.

Most nights I sit out on my deck til late reading and writing while I have a smoke. I have a floodlight out there but it draws in too many bugs, especially in summer. We get these things called Christmas beetles when the weather gets warm; they’re about the size of your thumbnail and they’re stupid as hell. If you leave a light on at night they come in scores, bumping into you like drunks at a crowded night club. I keep a little citronella candle instead to shoo the mozzies, then I turn on a bright spotlight round the other side of the house to lure the beetles away from the back deck.

Well last week on Monday, I was out maybe around ten-thirty at night just doing my usual. Everything was fine until suddenly the spotlight on the other side of the house goes out. I groaned aloud. I had a spare bulb in the house but the whole thing was an inconvenience more than anything. Anyway, I went and got the spare bulb, walked ‘round the side of the house to the light, and… well the bulb wasn’t blown. It was gone. Unscrewed and nowhere to be seen. Looking around, I heard a weird sort of scraping sound from nearby. Like two rocks rubbing together. It started slow and picked up speed moving fast toward me. I didn’t stop to think about it, I just made a bee-line for the door and got into the house. Bugger that for a game of soldiers.

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George Harrison, photographed for Somewhere in England by Brian Aris

The Rebirth of George Harrison
By Terry Staunton - Express, 27 May 2012

“GILES MARTIN was born the same week in 1969 that The Beatles released Abbey Road, the only album to feature a hit single with George Harrison on lead vocals: Something.

Yet despite being the son of the group’s legendary producer Sir George Martin, it would be another 10 years before he came face to face with the man the press dubbed The Quiet One; although side by side would be a more accurate description of their first meeting.

‘My parents took me to a Simon and Garfunkel concert at Wembley Stadium and I went to the toilet during the interval,’ says Giles, now 42. 'This guy standing at the next urinal started talking to me. He said something like "Y’all right?”, I was really embarrassed and tried not to look at him. Then he said, “See you later” and left.

'When I got back to Mum and Dad he was standing with them and, yes, it was George Harrison. Dad said, “George have you met my son Giles?”, to which he replied “Met him? I’ve just had a wee next to him”.’

Sir George chose to keep his children away from celebrities and the spotlight so they grew up blissfully unaware of his famous work colleagues. Writing about the group in 1977, he revealed his young daughter Lucy once asked him, 'Were they as great as The Bay City Rollers?’.

Ultimately Giles followed his father into music production and his most recent task has brought him back into contact with Harrison’s music, overseeing the release of Early Takes Volume 1, a collection of the late Beatle’s home demo recordings.

'I always liked George the most when I was a kid. My first real awareness of The Beatles was watching the film of their 1965 concert at Shea Stadium when I was about seven. I remember being struck by George especially, possibly because I liked the look of his guitar but also he just came across as a really nice bloke.’

Paul McCartney continued working with Martin senior after the Fab Four’s demise and was a regular visitor at the family home.Giles saw less of Harrison but has powerful memories of the man’s kindness and generosity.

'There was a time in the Nineties when Dad was very sick. He was confined to bed and things were fairly touch and go for a while. George was wonderful, simply wonderful; he came over to visit and brought dad a Ganesh elephant symbol, telling him it would keep him safe and well.

'He was such a comfort to the whole family during a difficult time. He was a very keen gardener, the grounds of his home were just beautiful, still are, and he helped Mum a lot with our garden.

'He would drive over to see us with as many plants as he could fit on to the passenger seat of a McLaren F1!

'He meant a great deal to my dad; to all of us. Working as closely as I have done on these home recordings I do feel a little guilty that I didn’t spend more time with him. It sometimes felt like I never really knew him.

'In some ways that’s a good thing because it allows me a little bit of distance to assess the tapes with a more level head.

'I’m not entirely oblivious to the history but I’m far enough removed, by age if nothing else, not to be overwhelmed by emotions. If we’d been very close friends, this job would have been a nightmare.’

The bulk of Early Takes is embryonic versions of songs such as My Sweet Lord and All Things Must Pass that would emerge fully formed on Harrison’s first solo albums of the early Seventies. Later volumes will delve further into the archives.

Does Giles ever think George’s music has been underrated by history? 'I would hope we’ve moved on from thinking of any one of The Beatles as a junior partner. As Paul has often said, they were four corners of a square which wouldn’t have existed without all four of them. George didn’t write as many songs as Paul or John, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t give as much to the group.’

In many ways, Giles suggests, the end of The Beatles was the making of Harrison as a respected musician in his own right.

'George did well in separating himself from The Beatles later in life. He was a bit younger than the others and I don’t think he really wanted to write songs in the early days, but he flourished after the band split up.

'He wasn’t discouraged from writing for them, as some versions of events would have you believe. John and Paul may have ignored him sometimes in the latter stages when they were recording the Let It Be album, but that was mainly because they were trying to salvage their own dysfunctional working marriage.

'George was a complicated man but he did all the important things well. My dad always describes him as being like someone making a fine rug or embroidery. He could sit for hours concentrating on very intricate threads, whereas John and Paul were more prone to bash things out.

'I think he liked to create a more meticulous atmosphere in the studio and that comes across in these home demos. They give you a real sense of his craft and of what a beautiful, gentle soul he was.’

George Harrison’s Early Takes Volume 1 is out now"

the post in question

steve rogers: the usa would see him as the sweet cinnamon roll who’s just too good to be true, while the rest of the world, especially ones not immediately allied with the usa would be more hesitant to like him because just the idea of someone calling themselves captain america and running around into foreign borders gives a lot of people a bad taste in their mouths. people are also worried that he’s clinging to his 40s values (and we never really see him participate in press conferences either but thats me being picky). but he seems a nice enough bloke, especially with his fervent belief in helping everyone, and the propoganda thats been built up around him for over half a century definitely helps in putting him into a good light. despite this though, there are still people, especially online who feel as though steve isnt taking into account the feelings of the citizens of the countries he enters when he goes after his mission. he might think he’s foing what he feels is best, but hes still a white american who may not be aware of the current political landscape, and hes fucking around in foreign countries without proper cooperation with the authorities)

and tony stark: the problematic fave. after the avengers people start to like him more because he and his company are the only ones that are actively seen helping rebuild after the battle of new york. his snark is always fun to hear about though, and hearing him rip into a politician or someone who’s pissed him off, and although he’s less approachable then steve just by virtue of being a famous billionaire people still come up to him on the streets, especially the younger kids who might not be as aware of his past as a weapons developer
then there are the conspiracy people (something i wanna write about one day tbh) who want to know why the portal was opened up from stark tower in the first place. no one knows how ultron came along but its easy to guess, considering tony’s past AI inventions. everyone sees him trying to stop the hulk and minimise casualties in johannesburg and theyre divided. on one hand hes the only one who came to stop the hulk (and, again, the only one to participate in clean up), but the fight caused a super lot of damage also. so, tony would probably be among the avengers that have the most broken base (for example, the people who liked him before iron man, hate his new direction. the people that like iron man but hate tony stark. the people who like both tony and iron man and feel that people are being too mean. no one likes the iron legion, but some understand where he’s coming from. he’s got the same issue as steve, the white capitalist american coming into their countries and trying to enforce his own agenda upon them. what do the foreign governments think of the iron legion)

civil war changes all this.

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