if david is still alive after that

No Time Like the Present

Emma found a nice little clearing with a comfortably looking bed of moss underneath a tree. The feeling of seclusion was almost cosy, like this little space was magically protected from the rest of Neverland and all of the dangerous crap it hosted. Just to be sure, she still checked for dreamshade, but there was none in sight.

She plopped down on the moss and sighed. Alone with her thoughts at last.

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AU where Walter is still alive and when the Covenant reaches Origae-6, he helps Daniels build her log-cabin. After the colony is established and all the homes built, she - as the captain - is supposed to de-commission him…but Daniels can’t do it. She refuses, and is backed by Tennessee when the colonists argue.

Over time, she and Walter become closer and closer - she asks him to stay with her, in a different room of course, in the cabin so that she’s not alone. He knows how to comfort her after a nightmare about David or the aliens, he efficiently eases her back to sleep. Walter becomes an asset to the colony due to his knowledge: he helps doctors cure sickness, helps deliver the first children of the new world.

Because this is Walter, and he is polite and sweet, it is Daniels who makes “the first moves” and he hesitates because of her husband, and because as a synthetic he can’t technically love quite like a human can. The colony appreciate him and Daniels has respect as the captain of the ship they were on, but there are boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed, surely.

Daniels doesn’t give a fuck. “I don’t give a fuck,” she tells him with a shrug.

Walter does love her - perhaps not like humans love, but there is definite love.

Synthetics, of course, cannot have children; he worries that this means Dany will miss out on something in life, something necessary. Daniels doesn’t care - she and Jacob would have had children, granted, but it’s not the most important thing to her. She would be happy just with his companionship.

(They do later adopt one of the embryos that had been on the ship; Walter is programmed in a way that means he is amazing with children of all ages. Daniels just enjoys watching him interact with all of the children on the planet, their adopted one included)

Unlike David, who tried to create fauna, Walter grows flora - plants. He has his own little section near the cabin that he now shares with Daniels, growing plants for consumption and because they add to the aesthetic for the land. He creates new variations of plants - and wonders if this means he is just like David.

Daniels assures him he’s nothing like David - she has nightmares of David and his touch, but it is Walter who calms her.

Once Upon a Time stars tease new dangers in Wish Realm


Once Upon a Time‘s trip to the Wish Realm got really complicated in the winter finale — and the danger ratchets when the show returns on Sunday.

During the winter finale, Emma (Jennifer Morrison) found herself in the Wish Realm, a land in which she never became the Savior. In order to wake her from her reverie, Regina (Lana Parrilla) crushed the hearts of Queen Snow (Ginnifer Goodwin) and King David (Josh Dallas), making her the most wanted woman in the land.

Fortunately, Emma woke up. Unfortunately, their escape from the Wish Realm was interrupted by the arrival of Robin (Sean Maguire), who in this world is still very much alive. When the ABC fairy tale drama returns on Sunday, the Outlaw Queen reunion will take a quick turn as the palace guards, led by a vengeful Prince Henry (Jared Gilmore), aim to make the Evil Queen pay.

“We have to find a way out, and we have several people after us because they all think Regina’s really the Evil Queen,” Morrison tells EW. “She’s sought out as being this terrible person, so now Henry is after her trying to kill her. The danger is the entire kingdom is after us, and we’re just trying to figure out how to get back out to stop this weirdness.”

Despite being hunted, Regina may not actually want to leave now that she’s seen Robin again. But this isn’t the Robin that OUAT fans remember — this version is not Robin Hood, but Robin of Locksley. “Regina’s dominated by her emotions most of the time, and seeing Robin really shook her up,” Parrilla says. “She’s in a position where she has to figure out what she’s going to do with that relationship, and even though he’s not real, she has questions and she needs them answered. One of them is, ‘Was Robin better off without her?’ That’s her quest in the winter premiere. There’s still a part of her that is really hopeful.”

But facing off against her son may prove more difficult for Regina. “Killing the Charmings, it wasn’t a real sacrifice for Regina,” Parrilla says. “She was really just trying to wake up Emma, but then when Henry comes forward, it’s a whole different ball game. No matter whether Henry’s real or not, it’s still her son, so she can’t even fathom the thought of hurting him on any level. I think the real danger for them is getting trapped there.”

x

Classic Rock Fandom Gothic

I know this meme has been done to death, but elysianrain​ and I made this after we realized no one had done a version for the classic rock fandom- which, let’s be honest, is fertile ground for the weird and spooky.

  • You brush the beaded curtains aside and gaze wistfully out of your window. ‘When will my husband return from tour,’ you whisper softly to yourself, clutching a handful of his letters from the road. It doesn’t matter that he died more than forty years ago. He will come back to you.
  • “What is today’s date?” your classmate asks innocuously. You know it is March 15th, 1975. Or is it 1969? 1972? Time has lost all meaning.
  • You still find glitter from after-parties past on your belongings, shining like the memories of your gilded former life. You brush some glitter off your faux-suede sleeve and remember the feeling of David Bowie’s arms around you.
  • You’re singing along to your favorite record. The needle has long since reached the run-out groove, but you keep singing, oblivious to the pops and scratches of the vinyl. You know what comes next, the words and the tune that no one alive has heard. After all, he wrote it for you.
  • Faded ticket stubs litter your desk. Most are worn with age and completely illegible now, but you can tell with a glance where and when they came from. The memories you have of these concerts, long before you were born, mean more to you than the names and dates ever could.
  • Yellowing posters threaten to fall off of your walls at any moment, but they stay up, as if to humor your perseverance. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Paul McCartney wink at you from high above your bed.
  • Play the records backwards and they will tell you their secrets. The voices of the long-dead cry out to you from grooves in the vinyl. You cannot understand their words, but the meaning is clear. Save us..
  • The seams on your thrift-store clothes are coming undone yet again, and the fabric itself is frayed and faded. You receive curious glances from those around you, but they wouldn’t understand. They weren’t there, but your clothes were. Your clothes understand.
  • You can’t help but laugh as your long-lost beau recounts one of his on-tour antics. You hear someone call your name and slip the bookmark back into place, annoyed that you’ve been pulled yet again from the world where you truly belong.
  • A loud crash awakens you in the middle of the night. As you look through your window for the source of the sound, you notice your TV, smashed to pieces on the ground outside. How did that happen?
  • You’re living in the past, they tell you. The Cavern Club, the Marquee, the UFO- all these places ceased to exist before you were even born. But you know the truth. You’ve made better memories in these long-gone concert venues than you ever did in the 21st century. You plan on going back tonight. I hear the Doors are going to be playing.
  • They say no one truly dies until they are forgotten. Your house is full of ghosts. They celebrate your triumphs, echo your woes, and hold your hand during good times and bad.
CS ff: “We Got Us” (au)

onceuponaprincessworld said: Hi!!!! I don’t know if you accept prompts but if you do, could you write a cs ff secret dating au??? 

A/N: Once upon a time, back when I practically first joined tumblr, @onceuponaprincessworld sent me this prompt and waited patiently. And finally, the wait is over. (Title from a lyric in OneRepublic’s “Something I Need”)

Rating: The first scene is sex, so this is pretty damn M.

Word Count: 17.2k

Summary: How they got together is mostly a run-of-the-mill story. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. A strange and complicated courtship followed. All that really matters to either of them is that they’re happy. They’re in love. They’re miles away from anyone who cares if they are in a relationship or not. And that only matters because no one that knows either of them would ever expect them to be in a relationship in the first place. Perhaps it would be easier if their brothers weren’t best friends. It’s the easiest separation between family and relationship that either of them has ever had. 

Which means that it can’t last, of course.

Now with AO3 and FFN links!


“Fuck, Killian.” Emma’s voice is muffled by the pillow she’s pushed her face into, up on her knees as he pushes steadily into her from behind. Double bad days at work have led here, but that’s what tends to happen when students don’t listen and parents are entitled and you put a criminology professor and a high school history teacher in the same relationship. They’ll get back to the lovey-dovey bullshit when both of their tempers have calmed the fuck down and their adrenaline levels are back to normal. But for now, this is all they can manage. “Harder,” she commands, even if it seems as if she’s at his mercy.

Killian’s day was bad enough that he just grunts in response, overruling his love for talking dirty during sex as he obliges. His fingers tighten on her hip, and his thrusts speed up as he starts chasing release. One hand moves around her front to ensure she comes before he does, but it’s the most considerate thing either of them has done since they got to the bedroom. In response, she moves one hand to grip the one still on her hip and she hears the broken noise that comes from him at the gesture.

It’s almost simultaneous when they climax, one following the other, neither really sure which could call first as their bodies finally collapse on the bed in a heap of spent energy. He makes sure to fall next to her, their hands still clasped, and he uses his grip to drag her closer. Their eyes finally meet as he gathers her into his arms, a small smile peeking out of the furrowed brows and pursed lips that she thought may be permanent when he first walked in the door.

For both of them, it’s like suddenly flipping a switch. Emma props up on her elbow for a moment, kissing him as tenderly as if they had just made love, like there isn’t a red mark where she’d commanded him to spank her ten minutes prior, before she settles in against his side once more.

“Hi,” she finally says.  “Welcome home from school.” She fixates on a bead of sweat working its way down his temple as he reaches for the hair that’s escaped from her braid to twirl it between his fingers.

He hums in response, instead of rehashing the fact that neither of them had spectacular days, and lets his eyes roam her face. “What shall we make for dinner tonight, love?” They don’t need to revisit the fact that two of Killian’s star students got in a fight outside his classroom door, both earning suspensions and losing all the progress they’d made since the beginning of the year. They don’t need to go over the authority problems Emma is having in her college classrooms, with a student doing everything he can to crawl under her skin with emotional manipulation.

And it may have been bad when they both got home, but now it’s just another day for them. Work always follows them home, but this kind of welcome means they can at least shove the unpleasant moments to the side to regroup and start again.

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anonymous asked:

Midnight Waltz by David Garrett

The Midnight Waltz

The candlelight flickers gently against the walls of the ballroom as the sound of a mellow violin solo wafts through the open doors and into the rest of the castle.  The servants don’t have much to worry about; this is not an extravagant ball like the others the king had recently thrown.  As the queen put it, it was simply “an elegant gathering.” Which meant that her closest friends and family, instead of French noblemen, are the guests, and the ballroom still feels spacious enough.

That does not stop white-gold dresses to float when their owners spin around their partners, whose jackets and coats gleamed with silver and gold trim.  There are no dark colors in the small crowd of dancers tonight, only lighthearted colors that bring to mind a cool summer’s eve.

The queen, wearing a gown of cream and gold trimming, dances at the center, alone but certainly not lonely.  The king—cloaked in a deep gold waistcoat and jacket—watches from a seat at the edge of the merriment, his dark, strict eyes allowing a hint of adoration to color them as he watches his wife dance.  She is like an angel; tonight, she can do no wrong.

The curtains are half-closed to shut out the moonless night, but they provide convenient cover for the curious blue eyes of a young prince whose bedtime was several hours ago.  He too is transfixed by the music and the dancers; he does not know who they are, but their spirits seem to be visible in the way they carried themselves, like they were lighter than air.  Their feet barely touch the ground; their arms come up above their heads as if to embrace the candlelight.  And his mother is the center of it all, the most beautiful soul in the room.  He can see her wonder when she enters the world of faerie-tales in the library.  He can see her kindness when she kisses him before bedtime.  He can see her happiness when she flies through the halls of the castle like a bird.  She is the queen, but the young prince sometimes wonders if she ever truly crossed that line into adulthood.  All of those expressions are nestled within the one she wears tonight among the brushes of white and gold makeup.

What the prince does not guess is that the queen knows where he hides and his hidden presence makes her laugh.  She makes no attempts to usher him back to bed, only continues to let her heart soar into the night.

And she’s not the only one.  The music swells, reaching even the darkest parts of the castle, and the other servants respond to it. The majordomo checks to see when the guests will be leaving.  His aide listens to the music in the corridor, his fingers moving along with the ever-climbing notes the soloist brings forth.  A footman and a maid waltz across the kitchen floor while the head housekeeper watches and smiles, wishing her husband could be here to witness it.

On the eve of the summer solstice, all is well, and everything is perfect.

“Everything can change in a New York minute...”

That was a lyric from a song by Don Henley. I remember it was played a fair amount rifht after 9/11.

It may surprise some of my followers that, at my age, both my parents were still alive. This is my father, Harvey Cobert of Knoxville, TN. I call my parents on the phone regularly, but I must admit I have not seen them or visited them in years.

Last month when I called, my mother informed me that Dad was not in good health. I made plans to take time off from work to visit them with my brother David and his two sons. We planned on going next weekend, June 9 and 10.

Then over the weekend I got the call I’d been dreading from my Mom: Dad was no longer with us.

Like a damn idiot, I assumed I would have so much time to go visit Mom and Dad that I kept putting it off. We are still going to see Mom this coming weekend. But now I’ll never see Dad again, at least in this world.

Never pass by a chance to visit a loved one or to let them know how much they mean to you. You can never know when one opportunity will be the last opportunity you’ll ever have.

Rest in peace, Dad.

That said, these lines of Tony’s allow me happy AU headcanon hope: “I’m gonna take Tali to Israel. Look for some answers. Then I’m gonna take her to Paris. Ziva loves Paris.”

Loves, not loved.

Therefore, Tony was clearly late because Ziva managed to contact him and let him know that she is still alive but that he can’t tell anyone. Clearly.

He and Tali are going to meet up w/ her in Paris, after picking up some of Ziva’s belongings that she had to leave in Israel.

*nods firmly*

i don’t think david actually bore any contempt for humans until AFTER weyland died. i don’t think he even despised weyland until after weyland died. during the time he was alive, weyland made very clear to david the relationship between creator and creation, and how that line was not to be crossed. and so david played the role of the created, of the lesser. not happy, but not discontented, either. even as advancements to his software came over the years, he continued to do what was expected of him and nothing more, and with no grievances. only AFTER weyland died and david was left alone to his own thoughts and wants did he begin to develop what he perceived to be contemptuous feelings.

You asked for CarWash siblings headcanons?

  • David’s favorite color is red because that’s his sister’s (natural) hair color.
  • Carolina’s favorite color is aqua (like the armor she wears); as kids, she and her brother were the original Red vs Blue that later inspired their father’s team color choice for the simulation troopers.
  • David is the spitting image of his mother except his eyes are a little grayer and he has lots of freckles, and his uncanny resemblance causes all the AI fragments to do a double-take when they see his face for the first time.
  • They’re four years apart and Allison died when they were 8 and 4, old enough for Carolina to remember her well and David young enough to barely remember her at all.
  • They lived in Austin, Texas, but David was actually born in Washington and his dad called him ‘Washington’ and ‘Wash’ as a nickname (especially since it annoyed Allison).
  • On their birthdays, they make each other their mother’s favorite cake after she died.
  • They had two cats living in the house growing up (One of them was named Joe the Cat and the other was called Black Patch) and Wash has pictures of them in his locker.
  • David also has a rubber duck in his locker; he’s kept it because it’s a memento from the earliest part of his childhood when his mother was still alive.
  • Carolina joins the military to honor her mother’s memory in fighting to protect humanity (though her mother fought against the Insurrection and she’ll fight against the Covenant).
  • Carolina became an ODST while David NEVER became an ODST because he couldn’t handle the idea of falling from a great height while trapped inside a metal box that he was entirely at the mercy of. He’s perfectly fine with falling from great heights when he has free reign of movement.
  • David’s middle name is Leonard.
  • Dr. Church played a very active role in his children’s lives. He saw Allison in how they acted and looked and it encouraged him to continue living for their sakes when his memories of his deceased wife became too much to bear. He originally created Project Freelancer to create the armor enhancements and better protect them from the Covenant’s genocidal campaigns.
  • After Carolina left for the military at 18, David unexpectedly picked a lot of fights in high school. He had inherited his father’s quick temper, but he wasn’t keeping a lid on it as much because he missed his sister and worried every day that she might turn up dead, just like their mother.
  • David joined the military in a vain attempt to try and find her so that he could watch her back out there.
  • David was not initially certified Article 12 (Unfit for Duty) when Epsilon was first removed. He was only certified after his father happened across him trying to commit suicide himself, just like Epsilon had done.
  • Allison had actually planted yellow roses when she was pregnant with Carolina because they were her favorite flower. The entire family took care of them, but Carolina was particularly diligent. To her, as long as the plant lived, her mother was still with her and “wasn’t really gone.” When she joined the military, she took a pressing of one of the yellow roses and a picture of the whole bush as well as pictures of her brother, father, and mother along with her.
  • Carolina was the one who got David his red skateboard for his birthday one year.
  • She finally came out of hiding after several years sometime after season 8 specifically because she heard that her baby brother was dead and was just as shocked to find him alive (with the Reds and Blues that had supposedly killed him) as he was to see her alive.
  • In Project Freelancer, they both kept it secret that they were related to the Director and didn’t really tell anyone that they were siblings either. York had to be told though when he started getting jealous of Wash.
  • They never even thought to tell the Reds and Blues that they’re siblings.
  • Wash can remember many things that he wishes he didn’t after Epsilon was implanted into his head, but try as he might, he can’t remember the last time he spoke with his sister before she was killed and that haunts him (it’s not so important anymore once he discovers she’s actually alive).
  • David takes after his dad in his technological inclinations, though his interests are more mechanical than biological in nature. He actually built a robot that would end up being the future base prototype for Lopez and Alpha’s and Tex’s robot bodies.
  • Their favorite names for each other as kids when they were playing were Phoenix (Carolina’s) and Puma (David’s).
Overwatch Character Playlists

So I’ve spent the last few weeks compiling some of my favorite music to all the playable characters in Overwatch.  The playlists can be found on Spotify by clicking HERE and going to the “Public Playlists” tab.

Each playlist has 10 songs and is roughly 30-45 minutes.  Most are lyrical, although there are some instrumental songs mixed in.  Each playlist ends with a song that has something to do with the character’s ultimate ability (whether it be the song title matches the ultimate name, or the song gives off a vibe of how you feel while using the ultimate).

Below the Keep Reading tab I’ve put the track lists and links to each individual playlist.

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(the ringing in my ears)

Post 3x07 missing scene / canon divergence for the following Neverland Renaissance 2.0 prompts:

  • “Do you ever get used to it ? To their cries ?” “You get used to everything.”
  • Emma tells Hook that Neal left her in prison pregnant
  • Hook tells Emma he’s glad Neal is alive

~1.8k Rated K. Just a little conversation where Emma has a bit of a rant. Not very pro-Neal, ftr.

Emma does her best to ignore the rustling of the leaves as somebody approaches her little clearing, wrapping her arms around herself protectively as she stares into the small fire she’s lit the old-fashioned way. The flames flicker higher and brighter as they get closer, and she recognises the solid footsteps of her father. Each one feels like a punch in the gut, the knowledge that he’ll die if he leaves this island twisting her stomach into knots.


“We wondered where you’d gone” he says from behind her, “thought you might want to celebrate.”

Emma stares at the flames, unblinking until their orange glow is imprinted on her retinas, and bites hard at the inside of her cheek. Clearly, her impending parental abandonment isn’t playing on his mind in quite the way it’s playing on hers. Maybe David’s just used to it. Letting her go.

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so i mean alien covenant was good but????

-i dont like what they did to shaw! it was a shit ending for a previous main character there was no point and it kinda makes prometheus pointless imo i mean they couldve had david hatch a xeno out of anything it didnt have to be her and based on prometheus character crap i dont think it wouldve been her

-or david. there was no reason to not have him develop at all while shaw was still alive and always good to him. if he was supposed to be “more human” then he would’ve had more respect for life other than xenomorphs after shaw

-and why’d they kill off all but 1 girl wtf i loved them all and their endings sucked especially karine (sp?) and upworth wtf

-leave walter alone please i love him. since he didnt die on screen i have hope but???? why???

-if theres a sequel daniels better still be ok. and whats his nuts too. a good egg.

also is it bad that i still love david? hope loves homicidal synthetics exhibit 2948.

anyway 8/10 i guess. though i expected baby xenos to look more like in the originals and less like mini forms of the adults.

“bowie is dead”. The three-word Facebook message — all lowercase — somehow reaches me on a barely-functional wifi network on the jetfoil between Korea and Japan. I get a burst of adrenalin, a surge of horror. Can this be a joke? If it is, it’s in very bad taste. I try to load the BBC News site on my phone. No joy. Try it on the MacBook Air. After much groaning and gurning the headlines finally load. Nothing about Bowie. It must be a hoax. I remember something Iman once said: “David doesn’t believe anything until it’s reported on the BBC.” I make a mental note to unfriend the joker. But then Twitter sputters into life. I manage to get half a page of my feed. One of the tweets is from Duncan Jones, Bowie’s son. It’s true, he says. There’s a photo of Bowie hoisting him onto his back. Duncan is going offline for a while, he says.

External image


Going offline is what I also do. By necessity, because I’m on the Sea of Japan and the wifi isn’t working. But it’s probably for the best. This is cataclysmic news. I want to be alone with it for a while. Bowie has been my lodestar, the single most decisive influence on my life. I want to find out how I feel, and what to think, and what to do.

It’s just gone 4pm. The Sea of Japan has never looked more leaden. We’ve passed Tsushima, an island outpost of Japan which is actually closer to Korea. We’ll be arriving at Fukuoka within the hour. Then — assuming there are no visa problems — I’ll take the train to Osaka. I have a few hours alone with this. My first thought is melodramatic: “It really doesn’t matter if this boat sinks now.” Then I think of my father, who died in June. Bowie — seventeen years younger than him, and thirteen older than me — was really a second father. My father sired Nick Currie, but it was Bowie who sired Momus, the artistic self I became. To lose them both within months of each other is really hard.

At the same time, you really have to hand it to the man: what fantastic theatrical timing! He faced the final curtain — which we will all face — with characteristic aplomb, going out at the top of his game, having recently fulfilled a long-held ambition to author a hit musical, released his strongest LP in years, and made two extraordinary videos. Not to mention a touring museum show with the now-poignant title “David Bowie Is…”. And then to go, to cease — so unexpectedly! — days after his 69th birthday! Weeks after a public appearance in which his legs did admittedly look worryingly thin…

Apparently he’d had cancer for eighteen months. What a keeper of secrets, just as he was when he used to sneak in and out of Bromley bedsits, playing girls off against each other, giving everyone a different story! Sneaky David who lied to everybody because it really wasn’t any of our business! He even got Tony Visconti to lie about him being healthy and strong! I’d heard the cancer rumours, but I believed the lies. I preferred to, needed to: the lies were so much more palatable.

But it wasn’t really “unexpectedly”. His songs — the public statements that really matter — had all the while been spelling things out stark and clear to those of us willing to listen. I felt uncomfortable singing, in my Blackstar cover: “Something happened on the day he died / Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside…” It was totally clear who “he” was. And then came Lazarus, with “Look up here, I’m in heaven…” And that video which has him disappearing into the wardrobe at the end. To Narnia, some said.

External image


My next thought, there on the jetfoil, is: if anyone were to fake their own death it would be Bowie. He’d have it announced, and believed, and then slip off to a Bond villain retreat in the mountains of Borneo. There he’d grow elegantly cadaverous just like Balthus, the wily old artist he interviewed for Modern Painters. He’d vicariously lap up the tributes, relish the tears, laughing at our sentimentality about someone we stereotyped, sometimes, as cocaine-cold, when in fact he was a histrionic volcano of emotion. And of course he’d make a few appearances, like Elvis, because he’s always enjoyed freaking people out, stretching their ideas about life and death, especially if there was an opportunity to impersonate Elvis at the same time. Bowie not dead after all! Bowie sighted in face mask and button eyes shopping for legwarmers at Target! Please let it be true!

And my God, how the tributes will flow! For oddities and misshapes, this is our “Diana moment”. Everyone will regale everyone else with tales of how they first encountered Bowie, what his work meant to them. I got some practise in during my Blackstar cover: the spoken narrative in the middle describes how, when I was forced to play rugby at a grim Scottish boarding school, David became “my best and only friend”, a ray of light in the institutional darkness who not only understood me but understood the darkness too. It was 1972, and Mark “Huggett” Hughes had Space Oddity, The Man Who Sold The World, Hunky Dory and Ziggy Stardust on permanent loan from his big sister. They became a dark world I could inhabit, a consolation. They demonstrated that art could make an unbearable life bearable: art was utterly transformative. Yes, I had an imaginary friend. You did too. It was the same guy. We were projecting collectively, dreaming synchronously.

I’ve never met David Bowie. I once got to ask him a question in an online chat on Bowienet, something about art magazines. And when I made my semi-instantaneous cover of Where Are We Now in 2013 he noticed it — to my utter surprise and delight — and a day or so later a story about it ran on his website. A tiny thing for him, a huge one for me. Asked last month by a Greek music magazine for my “career highlight”, I cited “being noticed by David Bowie after a lifetime of noticing him”. That’s how it felt. I never sent him my books, or my covers album with its disk dedicated to him, entitled “Dybbuk”. But I did get to explain the allusion on Bowie’s own site, at the prompting of Mark Adams, who runs it. So I do know that Bowie read it:

“David Bowie is the cultural figure without whom I as Momus simply wouldn’t have existed: a genius, a massively liberating presence producing prolifically throughout five decades, an enthusiastic index of cultural connections, a sort of internet-before-the-internet. Like the dybbuk of Jewish mythology, Bowie is a sum of stolen souls, a collection of all the most impressive gestures and talents of cultural figures he’s encountered and been smitten by. I want to make an unashamedly dark and leftfield take concentrating on the early cabaret work, the demos, the flickering shadows of Brecht and Brel, the avant-garde and eccentric moments, the symphonic poems. Songs Bowie has never performed live himself will be unfurled in unexpected yet faithful new readings, accompanied by video projections showing the many imitators whose souls the great dybbuk has so wonderfully spirited away.”

When I performed my Dybbuk cabaret at Cafe Oto the Bowie website plugged the show, and Mark Adams (“Total Blam Blam”) came along, gave me a great big bear hug, and videoed the concert for David himself. I never heard whether it met with approval, or was even seen. In my dealings with “Bowie’s people” I never wanted to be a nuisance or push myself forward. Everything that happened — and each tiny encouragement felt like being touched ever-so-slightly by the hand of a mortal god — happened because they wanted it. And, presumably, because he did. The one misstep I made was suggesting, in 2013, that I conduct an “intelligent interview” with Bowie. The silence that followed that suggestion was thunderous. Interviews were clearly not on the agenda.

So where are we now, all the little Bowie-ettes and Bowie-ologists whose souls were so gloriously stolen by nothing more than charm and talent and the forward-thrown lightning bolts of sheer heart-swallowing possibility? Well, we’re in a world made brighter than it ever dared be. Look at how grey and gloomy and awful Britain was in the 1970s, and then look at those Bowie lightning bolts, and imagine how inspirational they must have been to us! This was — incarnated in one frail and faggy yet utterly masculine person — a way to live, and be, in a form of supple, smooth gloriousness. Every dancer you ever wanted to be, every singer, every actor, every lover.

By the age of 14 my soul was utterly stolen: I looked in the mirror in my Montreal high school and was genuinely surprised not to see David Bowie looking back at me. Now there’s a weird feeling that I’m betraying him somehow: why am I still alive and he isn’t? Couldn’t I have taken a bullet for him? Couldn’t the second law of thermodynamics have been suspended, just this once?

I imagine people expecting me to do what Indian warrior widows traditionally did: throw themselves into their husbands’ graves in the act known as suttee. Because, really, why be alive in a world bereft of David Bowie? I imagine vicious people saying: “Oh, Momus just copies David Bowie the day after, let’s wait and see if he dies on Tuesday.” But no, actually I think there’ll be a great togetherness now, something I’ve felt strongly at moments when our little cult expands and everyone becomes — if only temporarily — a Bowie fan.

That will be one consolation. The bigger consolation is that the work remains, and he made so much of it, and our relationship with that amazing body of work will continue and evolve. The work will continue to dazzle and inspire and produce new work for centuries to come.

Nobody on the jetfoil crossing the Sea of Japan yet knows that David Bowie is no longer in the world. People on Facebook know it, because my phone is vibrating from time to time with message alerts. I contemplate tapping the Western couple sitting in front of me on the shoulder and telling them, but what would be the point? I wonder if the middle-aged Japanese man next to me would care? I envision catching glimpses, from my train later, of gigantic Bladerunneresque billboards displaying weeping images of David Bowie, or weeping images of his Japanese fans.

In fact the streets of Fukuoka are filled with radiant faces. Girls in kimonos and brilliant white stoles. Schoolgirls in uniform, coyly aware of their youthful radiance and its transience. Simultaneously sexual and Buddhist in that knowledge. Bright neon signs. Unlike all those romantically dark Bowie scenarios in which the world is dying and the newsman weeps and corpses rot on the slimy thoroughfare, the fact is that life goes on despite this news in its innocent, incorrigible way. Joy, traffic, the light in the sky. And after I die pretty girls will also still be smiling obliviously. Cakes and ale. The world keeps swinging.

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I remember something young Bowie told Russell Harty: “Do I worship anything? Life. I very much love life.” He said it with a twinkle in his eye. (In one of his last interviews the theme returned with dark humour: “I’m not going to enjoy being dead much.”) As the jetfoil crosses the mercury-grey sea, something catches the bleary corner of my eye. A silvery flash, there and then gone, a big living thing breaking the surface of the water, leaping with what looks like joy, the pure joy of being alive. A swordfish? I’m too slow to see for sure, but I decide it was a dolphin.

The ending we all deserved

Things I’d add to the Save Chloe ending - Ending 3

1) Since the Two Whales diner still stands after the storm I am assuming that whoever hid in there could survive. I want Joyce, Frank, Pompidou and Warren to walk out of the diner, Chloe yelling “Max, Max they’re alive!” and Max as they drive by. Hurling stop of the car, Chloe running as quickly as she can out of the car and hugging her mom. Tears.

2) David driving by cause he survived in the bunker, tied Jefferson up/left his body and drove in with his car to find Joyce. If you helped Joyce forgive David, she’d comment upon that, if not, they’d hug. David would then also want to hug Chloe, who’d hug him back and they’d share a moment of I’m so glad you’re okay. 

3) A brief dialogue about how there’s not much left to be done here. David comments about Jefferson going to jail. Warren comments about you doing the right choice after all. Max giving a look at Chloe and Chloe looking back at her with the same kind of love.

4) Joyce and David are now together, Frank has Pompidou, they all comment about how they need to leave this place. Max and Chloe tell them they’re leaving too and after a moment we see them waving them goodbye and sitting back in the car.

5) Chloe doesn’t start the wheel. Max asks what’s wrong, and she just smiles with a tear in her eye. She was so sure they’d all die, that it was all going to end in only her and Max together. But they are okay and it’s all good. Chloe grabs Maxs hand that’s been laying down on the car seat beside her, squeezing it lightly. Max leans in for the kiss they both deserved.

6) Chloe turns on the engine, stating smugly how they can finally go on that dream roadtrip and Max smiles bright, looking out through the window. They roll off as we saw them in the original version. Sun is shining, birds are flying, music trails off. Camera pans to the sky, then fades to black.

The End.

I’m still trying to figure out my complex emotions regarding Robert Vaughn’s passing. Sure, there are sadness and shock, but… It’s more like something I hold true for so long suddenly being taken away. 

After falling in love with MFU and our favorite spies, I always feel so blessed that both David and Robert are still alive, well, happy, and active. It’s so wonderful to feel this connected. But all of a sudden, Robert is gone. I still can’t wrap my brain around it… It… can’t be true right? It’s like telling me one plus one no longer equal to two anymore…

As we all know, MFU fandom is super warm and friendly :) And I just want us to keep posting/talking/writing about this show/Napollya/McVaughn. Let’s continue to celebrate MFU and keep Robert’s memory alive.

It’s natural to be sad, but I know Robert won’t want us to. He will forever live in our hearts and I know in David’s as well.

And Napoleon Solo? We all know very well that he lives on forever with his spy husband Illya Kuryakin happily ever after <3

What to Expect (When You're Expecting the Wost)

Summary: Shepard never thought in a million years she’d get pregnant, and now that she is, she’s not sure how to handle it. After all, these sorts of things should be impossible, right? (Shakarian, Rated G)

This takes place in the same universe as Bloodlines but can be read on it’s own.

1.

After nearly twenty years of pinprick accuracy in her menstrual cycles, she is late.

First a day, then two, then a week.

She doesn’t tell Garrus. It’s the stress of the move, she thinks; the injuries from the crucible; the medication.

She waits for disappointment.

It doesn’t come.

Then, excitement and terror fight a gut-churning battle.

After two weeks of uncertainty (and some awfully strange looks at the drug store), she buys two pregnancy tests: one dextro, one levo.

She takes levo first, then dextro.

When both come back blinking positive signs, she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

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For When You Wake Up

The idea for this one-shot came to me when I saw the promotional stills for next week’s episode.  My husband often works nights, and it’s not usual that we only get to interact a few minutes a day or that we go a couple of days without seeing one another, and yet, I never feel alone as long as I know he’s nearby and I can call him or leave him a message.  So part of this draws from that.  Apologies if it’s drivel; I dashed it off in what little spare time I had today at work.  Hope you enjoy.

Find it on AO3.

Summary: After they discover the nature of the Evil Queen’s new sleeping curse, Snow finds a way to keep her hope alive.  (Snowing one-shot.  Post 6.07.  Rated G.)




It’s a strange thing to get used to – only being awake while your other half is sleeping.  But they figure it out, and it’s a lot better than the alternative.  

At least they’re still alive.  At least they’re not lost, not separated by space or time.  They know what they’re dealing with.  And despite what the Evil Queen might have hoped, they’ve been through worse, Snow thinks grimly as they get David back to the loft and they settle him into their bed.  She’s sad and angry, of course, but she decides, after being reminded today, that she doesn’t have to give in those emotions.  She has a Prince who believes in her.  

She gets Neal back from Granny and feeds him a bottle as her family gathers around their table and comes up with a game plan.  Having her son in her arms, gazing into his little face as he blinks at her sleepily and feeling his tiny fingers curl around hers brings her immeasurable comfort after the day’s dramatic events and renews her determination to be strong.

They’ll have to rely a little more heavily on Granny, Ashley, Aurora, and the fairies to look after Neal now that he’ll be one parent down, but the ladies are more than happy to help.  Snow and Emma outline a rough sleep/wake schedule to try to accommodate both her job and David’s, with Emma covering for David and Jasmine covering for her a few days a week.  Snow makes a plan to cook meals ahead of time for him.  She knows her husband is perfectly capable of feeding himself, but it makes her feel better to still be doing something to look after him, to be giving him something of herself even though they can’t be present at the same time.  And then she gets another idea.

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