still not as bad as gerry's



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  • Deadpool has a lot of unfinished business in his inbox, and he’s determined to take care of it before…any sort of bad and permanent-ish thing happens to him. Revenge on Stevil Rogers? Settling things with Rogue? Oh, and doesn’t he still need to kill a few more folks? It’s time to get Wade’s affairs in order. You know, just in case…
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Brian’s Boys

A colourised picture of the famous ‘Brian’s Boys’ photos taken by Howard Walker on the 18th June 1963, in celebration of all the number one records the groups managed by Brian Epstein had achieved. The picture is from the book Retrographic: History’s Most Exciting Images Transformed Into Living Colour by Michael D. Carroll, published in September 2017. 

There never was a time like it for these boys. Just look at the joy in their smiles. So young and fresh-faced in their inexpensive suits and ties, sensible, unshowy haircuts and polished black shoes. […]

As for the fellow on the far right, watching over them like the proud tactician he was, it’s the man who made it all possible, manager Brian Epstein. He was just 28, but, in the eyes of his youthful proteges, practically middle-aged.

It was the summer of 1963 and a cultural earthquake was resetting the foundations of British popular music. And from being a place usually more associated with breeding comedians, the city of Liverpool had overnight become the capital of pop.

The Beatles had started it with No.1 hits From Me To You and She Loves You, but then right behind them came Gerry and the Pacemakers’ How Do You Do It? and I Like It — followed by Billy J Kramer’s Do You Want To Know A Secret? and Bad To Me.

Suddenly, it was cool to have a Scouse accent — whether or not you could sing.

Six months earlier, when these 13 young men were still following each other on stage at the tiny Cavern Club in Liverpool, to have imagined that such success could happen would have seemed lunatic.

The previous year, Brian Epstein had virtually to beg to get a record deal for The Beatles. And it was only when The Beatles defied London’s showbiz sneers and took off that he began to realise, and also to sign up, the depth of untapped talent on Merseyside — which came to be known as the Mersey Sound. […]

[B]ack then, consider Paul McCartney, only just turned 21, laughing as his pal Gerry Marsden grabs hold of him in mid-air.

How innocent they all look: how unaffected, how grateful to be alive and part of this extraordinary revolution of youth. Time, however, moves relentlessly on. For some in the photograph, fame would turn into a prison; for others, it would become a fleeting memory as the hits dried up.

And, for Brian Epstein it would be a death sentence. Just four years later he would die from a drugs overdose.

But right there on that summer’s day in Liverpool in 1963, there was confidence, camaraderie and the well-scrubbed optimism of youth. Those really were the days.

[Ray Connolly for The Daily Mail, 20th October 2017. Read the full article here.]

What happened to them?

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half-light chapter 9

one /// two /// three /// four /// five  /// six /// seven /// eight


Melissa is the only one who actually knows they are living together - Scully has managed to divert all her visits with her parents to their house (“Are you embarrassed of my place, Scully?” “Our place, Mulder, and no… I’m just not in the mood to explain why we’re living together to my parents.”) but Missy had insisted on coming over and having coffee sometime last spring so Scully had disclosed her new address and made her swear not to tell. (“As a fellow older sibling, I can disclose that there is no way she’s not telling.” “Shut up, Mulder.”) Mulder isn’t actually sure when she is planning to tell them, but he’s guessing that she didn’t have Thanksgiving in mind, when Melissa accidentally slips up and mentions “Dana and Fox’s place”. (He swears that she calls him that just to irritate him, seeing as how Scully had introduced him as Mulder in this universe.) Scully’s father immediately gives him a look that makes him want to melt on the spot, followed by a similar look from Bill Jr. Meanwhile, Scully is giving Melissa a nearly identical glare. Maggie doesn’t say much in the moment, but she kisses Mulder on the cheek at the door and not-so-subtly slides marriage into the conversation, smiling in a way that manages to be encouraging encouraging and encouraging and threatening all at once. She’d probably buy him the ring.

“God, remind me never to do that again,” Scully groans into his shoulder when they’ve finally gotten back to their couch.

“Um, honey? Christmas is coming soon, so I think you’ll have to.” Mulder scoots out of the way of the jab aimed towards his ribs for the honey. “If it makes you feel any better, holidays with my family would be worse,” he says. “It’d be a series of coldness between my parents and out of context questions about our lives. Also, I can’t remember the last time I brought someone home for the holidays. Or… ever doing that, in fact.”

Scully sighs. “I’m so incredibly grateful that I have a family to embarrass me at holidays… but I’d forgotten how confrontational it could feel at times.” She turns her face into into the leather back of the couch. “So this is normal? I should be grateful that my family’s back and can torture me?”

“Exactly,” Mulder says, rubbing his warm palm up and down her bare arm.

“Mmm. Well, I guess that’s what I’m thankful for,” she says into the couch. “What are you thankful for?”

He trails his fingers along her cheek. “This. You. The chance to start over, have a good life with you.”

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anonymous asked:

Prompt: Just Olicity being domestic as hell.

If twenty-two-year-old Ollie Queen could see what thirty-year-old Oliver Queen was like, he’d think he had wandered into the Twilight Zone.  Because Ollie had been scared to death of commitment, domesticity, or anything serious.

But Oliver craved it.  He wanted it all, and he wanted it with Felicity.  And now that he had it, he couldn’t get enough. 

Whistling softly, he walked into the former Palmer Technologies building, heading for the executive elevator.  The plastic bag in his hand swung in time with his steps and Oliver nodded and smiled at a few people he recognized in the hallways.  A lot of the QC employees had stayed on in spite of all the changes, which was good to see.  No matter what the name of the company was, there were still plenty of good people here. 

When he reached Gerry’s desk, Oliver opened the bag and pulled out a container of beef and broccoli.  “Here you go, Gerry.  How’s it going today?”

Felicity’s assistant looked incredibly relieved.  “Thank you, Mr. Queen–you’re a lifesaver.  Ms. Smoak’s had a hard day.  You surprising her with lunch will definitely make things better.” 

“That’s what I’m here to do,” Oliver said.  “And it’s Oliver and Felicity, you know that.” 

“Sorry, Mr. Queen, it’s just too weird for me to call you by your first names,” Gerry said, smiling as he popped off the lid for his lunch.

Chuckling, Oliver nodded and then headed into Felicity’s office.  Her back was to him as she talked on the phone, and from her tense shoulders and raised voice, he could see how Gerry had been underselling how bad his fiancee’s day had been.  

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“Yeah, I get it, vinyl is back. For some of us, it never went away, though. For some of us, it doesn’t matter whether Urban Outfitters, Amazon or Home Depot claim to be the world champion top seller of vinyl albums. We will buy it from whoever sells it, but in most cases, it’s going to be from independent record stores where we know the names of the people behind the counter and they know us. But there’s still another level, because yes, vinyl is back and it’s hip, so, hipsters. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Hipsters buy music. Whether they buy it because they really like it or because it’s ‘cool’ or because it’s ‘not cool’ and they’re being ironic or contrarian or whatever, it doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, the music was bought. money changed hands and the media gets to say ‘Remember vinyl albums?’ And that’s all well and good.

But then there’s the die-hards. The ones who never stopped. We’re in our 40s, at least. We still buy new music and reissued collectible albums, but mostly, we buy second hand records. We’re the ones buying those obscure old bands or replacing records we once had, but wore out or never got back from that ex 20 years ago. Genre means nothing to us. Some of us made a decision at some point to switch to CDs, regretted it in many ways and eventually decided to come back, full force. We’re the real diggers. Sure, we go to the trendy record store that opened up recently, sometimes feeling old, sometimes feeling young again. We also go to the one that’s been there for decades. But also, we go to Goodwill, Salvation Army, flea markets, garage sales or anywhere else we smell wax. We’re the ones who will dive through stacks of mostly disintegrated platters, smelling like the musty dust inside of Emile Berliner’s coffin, hoping to find a cheap gem or that rare Sinatra, Beatles, Elvis, Misfits, Blondie, or who knows what. We’ll check the surface, not too bad, no major scratches, just dust, cover is still more or less intact, score.

We’ll take it home, clean it up as best we can, and carefully, excitedly, optimistically, drop the needle on it. Cracks, pops, sizzle, but then, there it is. The warm caress we were craving like aural opium. Sure, we could have heard this song anytime we wanted via Spotify or countless other means, and we do that too, but this, this is ‘it.’ This is the stuff. This is what memories are made of right here.”

- Gerry Lopez, “Digging for Vinyl and the Meaning of Life,”

Something better than before

Prompt by Anon : Olicity and Baby Sara at QC - POV from an employee

It is really short and it could have been much better, sorry.

Enjoy anyway :)

Tagging since they so generously asked : bluemorgana olicitykisses mel-loves-all olicity-beautiful-dreamer @olicitysexwillsetusfree phieingelaere

One of the things that Gerry loves most about his work at Queen Inc. (formerly Palmer Technologies) are the days when Oliver Queen comes to visit his wife at the office.

And yes, he knows he has a boyfriend, but hey, he’s still allowed to watch. And Oliver Queen is a very fine looking specimen. And today, the swooning factor is heightened by the fact that he’s carrying Sara Diggle in his arms. Gerry remembers that Felicity told him they were baby sitting the little girl for a few days while her parents were on a well-deserved vacation.

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thefandomdropout  asked:

Ok now for something happy. Olivia gets home later than expected from OPA and finds Fitz having a pillow fight during bedtime with their little one.

For ctron164. Sidenote: The pillows mentioned in this story are real pillows that range from about $40 to $7,000 and if you ever get the chance to simply sit your head on one for five seconds, you will fall in love. They’re amazing.

Working with the elitist society of D.C. had given Olivia experiences that she would, no doubt, never encounter in another field. The late nights, the odd hours, the never ending phone calls had at one point been her entire existence. They sustained her. Made her want to wake up in the morning and not go to bed at night.

What these powerful people and strange working conditions didn’t prepare her for was a strong willed six year old that hated bedtime. And clearly, the President of the United States couldn’t use much of his experience either because he was completely partaking in these ‘Avoid Bedtime’ antics. It was a sight watching this distinguished, six foot man, jump on a bed while being smacked with a pillow.

Olivia clears her throat to alert them of her presence and the guilty expressions on both of their faces are priceless, dropping the pillows in their hands like they suddenly burned.

“Fitzgerald Thomas Grant.”

It was all she had to say for the duo to climb off of the bed and stand at attention in front of her. It didn’t even matter which one she was talking to.

“Mommy, Daddy made me do it. I just wanted to go to bed.” Gerry pleads, selling out his father quickly, his mother’s eyes staring back at her, watering and accompanied by her signature lip quiver.

Fitz scoffs at the little traitor and shoves him softly.

“You’re cute.” Olivia smiles at her son, running her hand gently through his tousled hair. “Too bad that that look only works on your pushover father.”

“I’m not a pushover.” He pipes up, slightly offended but shrinks back at her glare.

Sometimes he wondered how he could let such a small woman frighten him. He was the man of the house after all. Hell, he was the man of the country but looking back at her in her work attire, he remembered that she had made men that were bigger and more powerful than him disappear. Keeping quiet had nothing to do with fear. He was being smart.

“I told the both of you to be careful with the pillows. They’re-“

“Thousand dollar Cuddledown Batiste pillows. We know.” The boys finish for her, both of them looking at their matching sock clad feet.

Olivia was three seconds from bursting into laughter. Their expressions were almost identical. Their fingers crossed and barely there eyebrows furrowed in hopes that she wouldn’t yell.

“Then why are you guys rough housing with them?” She questions, stepping closer to them. “Especially when it’s past bedtime.”

Olivia shakes her head and holds her lips together firmly to keep from laughing as they begin to throw out ridiculous excuses, both of them blaming each other. Just listening to the two, it would be hard to pick out who was the six year old and who ran the country.

“Okay, okay. Enough.” Olivia shouts over them, trying to capture their attention. “I am willing to forget this little incident if you get in bed right this very second.”

Gerry takes off running, jumping into the bed dramatically and throwing the covers over his head.

“What about me?” Fitz whines looking at her pitifully.

She smirks at him and purposefully rests her hands on his lower abdomen, her fingers curling into the waistband of his pajama pants.

“I deal with you later.” She purrs lowly into his ear and then walks across the room to sit on the edge their son’s bed. “Gerry?”

Olivia shakes the lump under the cover, undeterred by his fictitious snoring.

He pokes his head out, opening one eye at her.

“I’m sleeping, Mommy.” He groans and rolls over, closing his eye.

“Wake up for a few seconds.”

With her blessing his bright hazel eyes pop open and the covers are thrown around his waist. Olivia laughs at his theatrics, knowing that he got that from her and kisses his forehead softly.

“I love you.” She whispers to him, causing him to throw her a big toothless smile.

“I love you, too.” He throws back quickly, still hyped up from the impromptu pillow playtime.

“Don’t let Daddy talk you into any more pillow fights, okay? I wouldn’t want him to get you in trouble.”

Gerry laughs loudly at that as he eyes his father across the room who’s shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“I won’t.” He giggles, sitting up to whisper in her ear. “Daddy’s a really bad influence when you’re at work. I bet I could make a more better president ‘cause Daddy didn’t even tell me to go to bed at my bedtime like you do.”

Olivia nods her head at him and lays him back down in the bed.

“I’ll be sure to remember that when you’re old enough to be president. Maybe we can include in one of your speeches.” Olivia agrees, tucking the covers back around his body. “For now, though, you’re still a six year old little boy that has school tomorrow and it’s time for bed.”

He closes his eyes and nods at her whispering another ‘I love you’.

Olivia smiles at his still form and makes her way to the door, gesturing Fitz with her eyes to follow suit when Gerry chimes from his bed.

“You too, Daddy.”

Fitz shakes his head at the tardiness of the statement but says nothing to contradict it.

“I love you, too, Buddy. Go to bed, now before I get in more trouble.”

Gerry chuckles at his dad but doesn’t say another word and keeps his eyes shut.

Olivia turns off the lights and then shuts the door, leaving couple face to face in the wide corridor. Having not seen her since the sun rose, Fitz leans down for a kiss when Olivia pulls away and starts leading him to their room.

“Nuh-uh Mr. President. You’ve been a bad boy.” She throws over her shoulder saucily. “You know how I feel about the pillows and you know how I feel about bedtime being adhered to.”

Fitz says nothing but follows obediently as she guides them into their bedroom and pushes him to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I think that you need be punished.” She smirks, beginning to take off her clothes.

Fitz sits back to watch her, completely mesmerized. Maybe he should make sure that their son missed bedtime more often.