#but internally he's simply bursting with love for the puppets around him

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

picnic <3

[faithfromanewperspective]

do you know, really, what burnout takes from you? the discipline that we so love as a culture that isn’t available to some anyway but some of us have had it and then we don’t, like I want to work out and stuff like I used to and can barely string a series of thoughts together to get myself food enough times a day that I can support my own energy needs let alone the additional ones that come from being an athlete. the sense of purpose and balance with the world around me I feel bubbling up in my veins for the first time ever? it comes and goes in between hours of being stuck and exhausted and having all the thoughts in my head fall out as soon as they pop in. and what is there that can be done about it, really, other than playing the strings of reality like it’s a puppet or my viola trying to make a pocket of existence for myself where I can rest, recuperate my energy, but when I do feel that energy instead of being spread out like I used to come in spiky bursts I wonder, is there ever any better than this? or is it time to take stock of exactly what I do have, to appreciate it and live within my limits? Is it worth planning for a future at all?

I’ve got this weird faith that things get better somehow, someday, as I work through the blur doing things I know I won’t be able to sustain for as long as others around me think I will. I get tired after minutes, they expect me to last for years. most of it isn’t necessary. this weird faith comes from stories of parents of PDA children, but I am not a child. I’m 22, my prefrontal cortex is fully formed and I always hold to the truth that brains are plastic but the truth is, I won’t recover as quickly as a child would, and I’ve gotta be realistic about this. I’ve found myself in the midst of it, and the very least, found myself in the unknown and the fog and the beliefs that hold me up when my bones are too tired, stronger than any force on me; the beats of vibes and songs that connect me to the world around me and pump my blood when my heart is broken.

holistic healing, whatever that looks like, to me it’s healing communities not in an ableist fix-it way but one that involves being seen and prioritising you as an individual amidst all the treatments and interventions that could help, even if those interventions are simply the dumb unsustainable things I use to make sure I have enough novelty to get out of bed each day like I did when I was a child, before my accommodations were taken away. that builds equal connection and weighs up anything that gets in the way with the option of just ditching it. holistic healing, I say for myself and the bird under my care who I feel most drawn to be the guardian of like he’s a real life feathered blorbo, him and his wife and all his brothers and niblings and their partners. I don’t know how I can care for them otherwise. I’ve gotta listen to myself, what activity that I can do frees me from this burden the most right now? What is the best investment in the long term, in relationships, in satisfaction, for me and those around me I care about, human or not? I need to feel. I’m going to make feeling a strength. I’m going to choose my commitments based on this.

it seems a little weird as a concept to have an internal compass like this, no one around me does, but all I know is that everything will burn me out unless I feel in my body if it’s okay to do, the product of my infiltrated beliefs that I’ve decided on and those that are the result of validating my feelings and asking myself, what does this say about me? the way I care so much about animals, both mine and those all over the world. the way I recognise my neurotype with the strongest pull towards them, something inside me screaming connect, connect, connect. the way I bristle and dissociate at the slightest hint of anyone losing their autonomy. lean into that sensitivity. what else is there to do? you’re a high flying hyperactive daredevil and you have to let that part of yourself out, same goes with this. what will it mean for my work? that I’m not sure. It’s burning me out. I wish I could live off a diverse stream of income. maybe I can. maybe I can work up to it.

I’ll prioritise that connection though, with a ten year old bird whose existence proves to me the answer to prayer and has since I first welcomed him into my life as a chick, standing tall even then. I’ll listen to my body and do what I can to pull the strings and manipulate the politics of the flock, ecosystem and bigger and bigger system dynamics as I grow and grow my confidence that I can do this gently. as if I’m guided by the very hand of God. maybe I am. maybe I’m not. but if I stick to my guns of love and equity I can’t stray too far from what a kind and just god would like. it’s okay to be uncertain. it’s okay to not know what’s ahead. it’s okay if my trust is only as strong and mystical as it is because it’s my only option on the other side of sheer apathy, every worst case scenario having happened and I’m just trying to pick up the pieces and hope I can make something beautiful, more beautiful than it was before—not caring if I destroy myself in the process but also starting to see myself as part of the mess. part of the holistic pile of things I’m trying to put back together

[pedros-mustache-main]

a thing for hermia

summary: though she be but little, she is fierce—and hopelessly in love.

word count: 1.5k+ (she a baby)

warnings: language, innuendo  

a/n: just wanna be upfront and say i basically got the idea for this from a blurb by the lovely @almightygwil. she said i could role with it, so this happened. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

also you can easily find the scene mentioned in the fic on youtube. it’s one of my favs, hence why i rambled on about it for too long. what’s italicized is shakespeare’s.

“curtain rises in ten, ladies!” richard, stage manager extraordinaire and cast wrangler, sticks his head in the door of your dressing room, tapping his knuckles against the wall. his face is flushed with stress, and the headset on his shoulders is askew. “best be ready soon.”

your cast mate, olive, winks at the middle-aged, balding, pudgy man, blush container poised halfway between her chest and her face. “i’m always ready for you, richard, dear,” she coos, to which richard, bless him, blushes and ducks out the door.

you slide your gaze to her reflection in the mirror. “you mustn’t tease him so. one day he might burst.”

olive dabs a bit of chapstick on her lips before standing. she secures her gown with a final pin and batts her eyelashes coyly. “richard is lovely and i mean every word i say. if he wants me, he can come have me.”

rising from your chair, you tug on your extensions. opening night had gone smoothly, no locks tugged out of place, but one could never be too certain. it was only a week in to the show’s run, but still you worried the hairpiece would fall off onstage. your face burned with embarrassment at the mere thought.

“god, if only my hair were this thick,” you say.

“and if only i had a million pounds. here, you’ve got some tool loose.” olive moves to stand behind you and adjust the tool beneath your dress. she meets your eyes over your shoulder, and you internally brace yourself. you know that glint; it’s nothing but trouble.

“what?” you ask, eyebrow lifted. “what is it?”

“your boyfriend,” she starts. her voice trails off as she turns her back, gathering a last minute glance at her script.

“joe?”

“he hasn’t come yet has he?”

you shake your head and pull on your ballet flats. “no. he’s in new york. i think he’ll be able to come next month.”

“you’re not angry? that he couldn’t make opening night?”

shrugging, you follow her into the hall. there’s a buzz here, as there always is. it settles in your veins like a drug, and soon you can’t help the ridiculous smile painted across your face. you dodge a member of the crew, arms laden with fake foliage and a face plastered in fear. 

“he’s busy, olive,” you say, rounding the corner. “london is thousands of miles from new york, and i think he had an important meeting that night. besides, being angry about something that’s over and done is pointless. he’ll come when he can and it will still be special.”

olive looks at you with disgust. “ugh,” she groans. “[y/n], you’re a saint and it sickens me. well, whatever he’s like, he doesn’t deserve you. if my boyfriend missed my first opening night on the west end—in a shakespeare play, no less—i’d chop his dick off.”

“guess i’ll be glad you don’t have a boyfriend then.”

olive slaps your shoulder. “uh! low blow!”

“there’s always time to butter richard up a bit more.”

before olive can respond, your director takes her place atop an overturned milk crate. she holds up her hands, and the cast and crew gathered around fall quiet. victoria is one of the youngest women to ever direct a version of ‘a midsummer night’s dream’ on the west end, and you couldn’t be more proud of being her hermia. you couldn’t be more proud of those around you. really, the tears that consistently well in your eyes when you look around the room and marvel at all you’ve accomplished are ridiculous. but you can’t help it.

five minutes before curtain is the same every night: a pep talk from victoria, a group huddle, whispered words of affection and good wishes. then all is silent. like well-oiled cogs in a machine, each person moves about their business, working for the good of the group and the good of the show. tonight is no different, and the surge of excitement you feel before stepping out on stage for the first time tingles from your head to your feet.

olive catches your arm seconds before you make your entrance. “break a leg,” she whispers, her fingers squeezing your elbow. that same glint—the one that spells trouble—lights her eyes, but you don’t have time to process it, wonder what’s gotten into her, before whisking onto the stage.

your favorite scene: act three, scene two.

you suppose it’s the nerd in you, the way you chomp at the bit to reach this scene each night. it might be the dialogue, the iconic lines and quick back and forth between your costars, that gets you so riled up. or maybe it’s simply the energy of being on stage as a group—yourself, olive, matthew, and nick—and feeding off one another’s frenzied energy. the physicality of the scene, too... you could ramble for days.

tonight, the energy is heightened tenfold. you can’t be sure, but you think olive is the one pushing things higher. there’s an unmistakable excitement about her you rarely see, and you rise to meet the challenge, careful to keep your words from fumbling together.

“O me! you juggler! you canker-blossom! You thief of love! what, have you come by night and stolen my love's heart from him?” tiny droplets of spit fly from your mouth as you speak, circling olive where she stands.

her eyes narrow, though she remains still. “Fine, i'faith! Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, no touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear impatient answers from my gentle tongue? Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet, you!”

straightening, you face the audience, face pulled blank in shock. “Puppet? why so?” in a moment you keep for yourself, you scan the crowd, allowing your words to sink in before you continue. your eyes trip over a familiar face, one you know dearly but can’t place in the second you have to pause. 

twisting back to olive, you say, “Ay, that way goes the game. Now I perceive that she hath made compare between our statures; she hath urged her height; and with her personage, her tall personage, her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him.”

then it clicks.

oh my god—joe!

the thought—the realization that he’s here, in a poorly padded chair, watching your every move, your every word—steals the next lines from your mouth. you want to turn, to smile at him and wave like a giddy schoolgirl, but you can’t. 

so you shake yourself free, well-aware that you’ve taken too many seconds to continue, and surge forward, struggling to keep your smile at bay.

“And are you grown so high in his esteem; because I am so dwarfish and so low? How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak; how low am I? I am not yet so low but that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.”

during curtain call, you squeeze olive’s hand hard and lean toward her ear. “you knew,” you whisper. “that he’d be here.”

she says nothing, only smiles and waves toward the crowd, her hand squeezing yours back.

it’s all you can do to not run to your dressing room once the curtain has fallen. there’s things to do, things to put away, before you can meet joe in the theatre, and your blood pumps hard with adrenaline. throwing open the door to your room, you pull the straps of your gown off your shoulders, eager to work as quickly as possible.

“whoa, whoa, whoa. i mean, i’m all for it, but wouldn’t a hello be nice first?”

squeaking, you jump, holding the top of your dress against your chest. joe sits on the ratty armchair in the corner, a bouquet of roses in hand, and an infuriating smirk on his face. 

unbidden, tears pool in your eyes. “i fucking hate you,” you say, crossing the floor to swat his chest. he laughs and grabs your waist, drawing you to his lap before you can wiggle away. holding his face in your hands, you whisper, “why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“i wanted it to be a surprise.”

“well, it worked! i nearly forget all my lines when i saw you.”

his smirk widens. “i thought i caught that.” squeezing your hip, he brushes a lock of hair away from your face. “i’m really proud of you. you were incredible.”

the blush that rises to your cheeks is embarrassing, but you hold his gaze despite it. “thanks.”

“do i get anything special for coming all this way and not spoiling the surprise?”

you know what he’s hinting at, and by george, you’d do it right here right now, but the hallway is too busy and someone is bound to hear you. so you lean forward and kiss him softly, moving your lips over his in the way he likes, enough to tease.

“maybe later,” you breathe, pulling away. he looks at you through hooded eyes, dark with desire, and it sends a thrill to your stomach. “first i want you to meet everyone.”

[nazyalenskyism]

Can’t Fall in Love Tonight (3/3)

Description: Chapter 3 of a modern Zoyalai political AU. Nikolai is running for office and Zoya is has been his right-hand woman since University. Feelings are finally realized and Zoyalai banter.

A/N: This is chapter 3 (the final chapter) of Can’t Fall in Love Tonight! I hope you enjoy and the rest of the fic is under the cut! My ask is open if you ever want to send prompts or questions! 

Ao3: Can’t Fall in Love Tonight

        “Could we— I just need a moment,” Nikolai said quietly, he felt strange, a little lightheaded, anxious and maybe panicked. Zoya looked at him, picking up on his frown, and in that moment he saw that she understood. She shot out of her seat, heading for the front of the room, commanding everyone’s attention with the authority of a general.

        “Right,” she snapped, clapping her hands together, “everyone clear out.” She was met with a sea of disbelieving faces, they’d all expected that the worst of the night was over and that they could simply sit and watch the results. “Did I not make myself clear?” she enunciated slowly, “everyone get back to work. We haven’t won yet, there’s no use in sitting around with your mouths open like a group of guppies when there’s still important work to be done. You can watch the results roll in from your stations, why do you think every wall in this office has a tv screen? Now get back to it!”

        Nikolai felt a rush of gratitude for Zoya as everyone started to trail out of the room, looking tired, but buzzing with anticipation for the results. He wished he could have as much faith as them, but he was worried. In the midst of all his negativity, something rather rare for him, he felt nervous too. Every time he looked at Zoya, he couldn’t help but feel nervous. Something had shifted between the two of them these past few weeks, it felt like something had been lying dormant for so long and had chosen now to make itself known. Every moment between them felt charged,

        When the room had cleared out, Zoya made her way to the door as well, about to turn the knob when he spoke, “...Zoya.” She knew he would not ask, it wasn’t in his nature, but she also knew that he wanted her to stay. And so she would. She poured two mugs of coffee and sat beside him, fighting to ignore the jolt she felt when he took the mug from her, fingers barely brushing hers. They sat in silence as the tv displayed new results every few minutes, Nikolai’s fingers clenching and unclenching around his drink. She couldn’t ask him if he was okay, he would resent that she asked, believing that she saw him as being weak, but she also knew he couldn’t sit like this for the next hour. She furrowed her brow, unsure about what she could do.

        Nikolai felt his heart beating in his throat, his tie was too tight, his jacket was too hot, his mind was racing too fast. The decaf coffee Zoya had handed him had done nothing but give him another thing to worry about, was it actually decaf? The way his heart was pounding, it didn’t feel like it. He was usually composed, calm, in charge of a situation or on his way to getting everything under control, but in this moment, he was anything but. He knew that losing was not the end of the world, that he had a good chance, but more than his personal defeat, he was worried for what it meant to his friends, and the people he promised to help. If his opponent won, the Darkling would be pulling the strings, using Demidov as a puppet to do his bidding, and almost all of his policies were the opposite of what Nikolai believed in, what he fought for. Not only that but he could see the disappointment on his friends’ faces, they loathed the Darkling, and this had been a way for them to finally beat him in a meaningful way. And none of that would happen if he lost. He knew he could do what was needed, he just hoped other people voted like they knew it too.

        There was another aspect about losing that worried him, what would happen after. He needed to win this position so that he would have the adequate experience for the next, and if he lost he would have to run again in four years. Even if he went back to practicing law, he knew his team wouldn’t be working alongside him. Genya was talented and highly sought-after, she and David would have no issue finding work, same with the twins. And then there was Zoya, whose whole job was to manage political campaigns, and she had made amendments to her title so that she could be Nikolai’s chief of staff, something she would never consider doing for anyone else. He was beyond lucky to have her by his side, but if he lost, he knew she had been getting calls from senators, international dignitaries, hoping that she would join their campaigns. If he couldn’t pull this off, he might not see her again, not for a few years at least, and at this point in their lives, in two years Zoya might be married and living in London while running some big campaign on the other side of the world.

        Looking at her, her eyebrows furrowed, head resting on her hand, he decided her absence would haunt him the most. He’d come to spend the last few years relying on her in his work, in his daily life, as the voice in the back of his head. He didn’t want to know what it would mean to achieve the things he wanted so desperately without her next to him to celebrate with. Maybe it was the tired, scared part of him that acted next, tired of being alone, shutting out feelings he knew he possessed, however deep he tried to hide them.

        Setting his coffee down, he reached out tentatively, before realizing that hesitant behavior wouldn’t be appreciated, instead moving confidently, seizing her hand in his own. She gave him a look that not even he could read, maybe some worry, and surprise. He made to pull back, but she squeezed his fingers tightly, sliding just a little bit closer to him, enough that he could smell the wildflower perfume she wore on special occasions drift over. For once he didn’t want to speak, worried it would break the fragility of the moment, so they sat in silence, hand in hand until the projected results rolled in nearly an hour later.

        Zoya let out a shriek, jumping out of her seat, her hands flying up to her face in shock. “Nikolai,” Zoya said, her blue eyes brilliant with excitement, “Nikolai, you did it.” Her hands slid up to cup his face, her palms on his cheeks, “Nikolai, you won!”

        Nikolai brought his own hands up resting them on top of hers, “Zoya, we did it. We did it.” She was beaming at him, he’d never seen her more elated, and he found himself grinning too, her smile was contagious.

        “We did it, we bested him, we showed them all, we did it,” Zoya repeated, her head spinning. She had to repeat it or else she was afraid it wouldn’t be true. She let out a dazed laugh, letting her hands slide down from Nikolai’s face to his shirt, clenching the material. She let her forehead fall to his chest, letting her head catch up with everything that had just happened. They’d won, against all odds, they’d won. She felt his arms wrap around her, and they stayed like that, embracing for a blissful moment before Zoya remembered herself. ‘One. Two. Three.’ she counted before she started to untangle herself from him. He must have been counting as well, as he pulled away at the same time.

        “Right, well.”

        “Zoya I—”

        “Nikolai! You did it!” Genya hollered bursting into the room, her red hair a banner streaking behind her as she launched herself at him. He stumbled back as the rest of his friends streamed into the room, David quietly closing the door behind them. The next little while was filled with them embracing, celebrating, and Nikolai promising that they could all get drunk after he gave his victory speech. Zoya slipped out of the room as they all celebrated, dropping off small thank-you gifts they’d spent the night before putting together for all the staff because none of them could sleep. She got surprised looks from some of them, and attempts for hugs from others, and she nearly laughed. Despite what everyone thought, she was not heartless, and she did want to thank them for their competency, even if they chose not to utilize it at times. When she finished, she grabbed Nikolai’s speech from her office and made her way back to her friends. He almost always wrote his speeches on his own, asking them to review them, but three nights ago he’d pulled her aside and asked her to write one from scratch for him. Well, technically two, a victory and a concession speech. Everyone broke apart as Zoya came back in, heading to the ballroom where Nikolai would be making his victory speech. They trailed far behind the rest of them, as Nikolai read through what she’d written for him.

        “ ‘While my good looks may have helped a bit, I know my team was instrumental to my success, even if they didn’t approve of my runway dreams and of me modelling on the August cover of Vogue.’ I like this,” he chuckled, absentmindedly running his thumb over his lip. “And this part here, ‘as I like to say, we hope or we falter,’ very true Nazyalensky.”

        Zoya flashed him a quick nod, trying to distract herself from his stupid mouth. She found herself doing it more and more often since that night in his apartment, distracting herself from the way the light caught off his golden hair, the way he smiled when he saw a friend no matter how tired he was, the way his fingers brushed his lips when he found something amusing. Everything he did was infuriating beyond belief and sent burning waves of irritation through her— or at least she claimed it was irritation. She was glad that the election was over, at least the next few weeks wouldn’t be as stressful, and she could stop her mind from crumbling to the pressure and doing something as stupid as she had almost done that night. She chose to ignore what had just happened while they were waiting for the results, alone in that room together. She would have done it for any of her clients— no she wouldn’t have. She would have done the same for her friends— although maybe without the hand-holding. ‘Yes’ she said to herself. She would have done the same for the others, there was nothing special about that moment. She tried to convince herself that she was right, but she knew otherwise. Damn him.

        Nikolai paused outside the backstage door, his mind racing. He was still jittery from his win, even more so now that he was about to face a crowd of supporters and several news cameras. David was giving the speech that would introduce Nikolai to the stage, as Nikolai turned to face Zoya, “ After this,” he gestured to the stage door, “before we go to the victory party, can I read my concession speech? I want to know what it said.”

        Zoya hesitated, her nerves buzzing. What she had done had been a classic Nikolai move, which meant that he might not be a fan, it wasn’t what he expected of her. But he wanted an answer and so he’d get one. “I didn’t write one,” she said sharply, looking up at him through her lashes. “I didn’t think you’d need one.”

        Nikolai felt a rush of gratitude at her words. Ever-practical, the realist between them, Zoya, believed in him to this extent? Yes. She believed in him more than anyone else ever had, more than his flightly mother and inane father ever had. She’d stuck by him through the ridiculousness of this election, the madness of the last seven years. He let his head reel at that fact while he let his heart make the first move, grabbing her face in his hands, pausing for a split second and pressing a swift kiss to her mouth. She froze against him, and he began to pull away right as her hands grasped his arms pulling him back to her. Her hands slid upwards, tangling in his neatly styled hair, and he grinned, normally she’d be the one killing him for having a hair out of place.

        “This is a terrible idea,” Zoya gasped, pulling back slightly.

        “Really? I consider this one of my best yet,” he laughed as she hit his chest, drawing her close again. One of the biggest moments in his life was scheduled to happen in minutes and he couldn’t find it in himself to be anxious about it, not when he’d been waiting years for this.

        She pulled him close this time, throwing her hesitations out the window, pressing her fingers to his cheek. Her other hand moved to help him shrug off his suit jacket, letting out a breathless laugh against his lips as it refused to come off.

        “Seems I’m a bit stuck,” he whispered, eyes sparkling as he rested his forehead against hers.

        “Seems you are. Try—” she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps quickly approaching. Nikolai flung himself in front of the stage door, barricading it with his body as Zoya began straightening out his clothes, pulling the jacket up, straightening his tie and trying to flatten the strands of hair she’d mussed only moments before. ‘Now I remember why this was such a bad idea,’ she thought, fixing her own appearance with one hand, Nikolai intertwining the other with his as Genya knocked on the door.

        “Nikolai you’re on in a minute!”

        “Thank you, Genya dear,” he shot Zoya a wink, pressing a quick kiss to her fingers before pulling her through the door behind him. ‘Shameless,’ she thought, pulling her hand from his before they ran into their friends, ‘that man is completely shameless.’

        “Good night, and thank you.” Nikolai called, letting the cheers of the crowd wash over him. He had accomplished many things in his life, each more grand than the last, but this win felt different. Maybe it was the fact that he’d finally managed to figure out if Zoya shared his feelings, or the fact that in an hour he would be getting drunk at their victory party before heading to a surprise karaoke party being thrown for him which he’d already found out about from a sleep-talking David. He knew he must be grinning like an idiot as he and his team headed back to his limo, waiting for Demidov's congratulatory call. Tolya popped open a bottle of champagne as Demidov graciously accepted defeat and talked Nikolai’s ear off for twenty minutes about how he was going to go be C.E.O. of his father's company specializing in something or the other, and how he’d love to get lunch with Nikolai and talk about contributing to his future campaigns. His arm was draped over the back of Zoya’s seat, something he always did, but a gesture that felt electric tonight. He wanted nothing more than to go back to what they had started earlier, but he was sure that Zoya wasn’t ready for anyone to know quite yet. And so they passed the rest of the ride listening to David’s enthusiasm about how many votes Nikolai got, his eyes meeting on hers time and time again. As Genya chimed in, Nikolai moved, subtle enough that no one else noticed when he daringly slipped his hand down around Zoya’s shoulders. She relaxed ever so slightly, looking up at him with an arched brow before leaning into him in the slightest of ways. Nikolai suppressed a grin, tonight was something out of his most wild dreams.

        As they approached the skyscraper where the party was, Zoya’s phone rang out shrilly, the tone for unknown callers playing. She frowned, the only people who had her personal number were either sitting in this car, or at her aunt’s house, and she had them all saved in her phone. Reaching into her clutch, she pulled it out, there was no caller ID. Nikolai raised a brow at her taking a sip from his glass, all of the others in the car watching curiously alongside him. Normally she wouldn’t bother to pick it up, but she’d never gotten a spam call on this number, and she wouldn’t mind berating someone tonight, that and the tiniest worry that something had happened to her aunt or cousin and for some reason they were using a different number.

        “Who is this?” she said, by way of greeting.

        “Zoya, such a pleasure to hear your voice.” she froze.

        “No.” She pulled away from the phone, moving to end the call when he spoke again, loud enough that she couldn’t hide who it was from the rest of them.

        “Now, now Zoya, I just wanted to congratulate you on your win, you always were my most capable student, although Safin did serve her purposes too, until she decided to betray me.”

        “Shut up,” Zoya hissed, feeling rage coursing through her veins. How dare he say Genya’s name, how dare he call her, tonight of all nights. How had he gotten this number? Everyone who had it hated him more than the next.

        “You did a good job, Zoya. I’m excited to see what you do next. I’ll have a front row seat, naturally.” He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, if she tried to speak right now, she would scream instead. When he realized she wouldn’t he continued, “Jarl Brum has asked me to be his new chief of staff, and since his office works closely with Sobachka’s— your golden boy’s district, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of one another.” She heard Genya gasp, Tolya growl, Tamar reach for her holster, and from the corner of her eye she saw that Nikolai was watching her, a worried crease between his brows. “Listen you bastard,” she began, ready to eviscerate him. She thought tonight’s victory would be enough, but here he was again, taunting them again. She would not let him have the upper hand. “If you so much as think about any of us again, I swear to the Saints that I will rip your t—” Zoya stopped as Nikolai’s hand touched her arm gently shaking his head once, a simple warning. She knew he was right, they were in the business of politics, and he already had enough reasons to make their lives miserable. She wouldn’t let him see how angry she was. She would wait, quietly, until the moment he least expected it, and then she would end his career. ‘I will drag him down like he deserves. He won’t be able to hurt them again.’ she vowed.

        “Lose this number. Don’t cry too much over the big bonus check you would’ve gotten if you had half the brains I do and had won. Goodnight Alexis.” Zoya spat, hanging up before he spoke again. She tossed her phone onto the floor carelessly, she had no use for it anymore, not when that snake had her number. Tamar let out a whoop as Tolya and Genya began clapping.

        “I can’t wait to see you kick his ass in person!” Genya sang, slipping out of the car not waiting for the rest to follow, and Zoya heard her voice continue, moving away from them. When it was just her and Nikolai left, she began to stand, halting as his hand slipped to her knee. She didn’t want to hear him ask if she was okay, she loathed to think that any of them had to see that part of her. Instead, he surprised her.

        “I didn't get to thank you yet.”

        She snorted, “thank me for what? Almost threatening to murder a man on the phone?”

        He made a face, “no, for helping me win.”

        “ You would’ve definitely lost without my help.”         “Undoubtedly.”

        After a brief silence, they both spoke at once, “what now?”

        He let out a strained laugh, looking weary as he asked, “do you want to do this Nazyalensky?”

        “Do you?”

        “Yes,” he breathed, cupping her face with a hand, “yes.”

        She swallowed, turning her face into his palm, she had pretended she hadn’t wanted this for so long that she was afraid to question herself now. Did she want this? She did, but she was also scared. Scared to ruin what they had, scared it wouldn’t work out, scared he would be just another person who left her behind. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the night, or the glimmer in his eyes, but she didn’t care. She wanted this, that much she was sure of.

        She nodded once, smiling at the dorky look on his face, sliding her hand into his coat pocket and typing furiously into his phone.

        “What are you doing?”

        “Telling Genya we left something at the office. That buys us 30 minutes before we have to actually go up.”

        “Clever, Nazyalensky.” he chuckled, tapping a finger against the divider, asking his driver to circle around the city for 30 minutes. He smiled as she tapped her glass against his in a cheers, falling back against his outstretched arm, letting him pull her closer against his side. When she tilted her head up, she tasted sweet like champagne, though she was anything but, and Nikolai knew he could definitely get used to this.

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 25-- Deconstruction/Reconstruction

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  With Radiant Garden under control of the resistance, it's time to rebuild. Ienzo tries to repair the damage done to his family.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

White sheets. Cool air. Color and light. He felt so heavy, and it took him a moment of grappling into consciousness to realize it was because he could barely move his legs.

“Ienzo? Love?”

Ienzo turned his head as much as he was able. He seemed to have motion in his upper body, but even that was difficult, like tugging on puppet strings. “Ev-even?” He swallowed.

“Would you like some water? I’ll get some. Don’t move.”

As if he could help it. Blurrily, he saw Even retreat to a corner of this room--the castle infirmary?--and pour water from a pitcher. He knew he should be grateful to still be sighted at all, after using so much magic. He squinted. Even handed him the cup; he could barely close his hand around it, but he managed it at last. Despite IV fluids, he was so thirsty .

“Are you in any pain? I can get you some medication if--”

“No. I’m not. But I can’t… it’s hard to move.”

“...I know.” Even smoothed some of the hair from Ienzo’s face. His own face was pale, pinched, a large bruise along his throat yellowing. “From the magic use. Breaking down a limiter of that strength… then triggering what you did… frankly, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

“Will I be like this… always?”

“I’m optimistic you’ll recover yet, but… there may be some lingering effects.”

“What’s happened? How long have I been out? Where’s Amalia? Where’s--?”

“One thing at a time, child. It’s imperative you remain calm.”

Ienzo tried to center himself, tried to take deep breaths. Even took his hand and rubbed it, gently.

“Amalia is safe and well. I suspect Ansem is enjoying having time with her. Once he received some blood replacement, Demyx was fine too. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled you’re awake. It was all rather… dramatic, how it went down. You’ve been unconscious close to three weeks.”

“Aeleus? ...Isa? What of… everything else? Xehanort’s forces? The son who called himself Ansem? He wasn’t in the throne room that day--”

Even’s eyes went blank, and he turned towards the window. “I’m afraid when I… felt your burst of magic--it was felt everywhere, Ienzo, I don’t think you understand--I assumed the worst and I--I did something reckless. He was our jailer, in my old labs, something he no doubt had great pleasure in. For the first time in my life… I acted on impulse.” He looked at his free hand, which was trembling. “I knew you were in trouble, and I--”

Ienzo had never heard Even sound so shaky. He choked down guilt. “You killed him.”

“...He was the gatekeeper.” He’d turned faintly green.

“Was that the first time you took a life?”

“It does not matter. It needed to happen either way.” He swallowed. “I made my way there, with ease. You killed every Heartless in the vicinity. Those that were human were knocked unconscious, or fled.”

“I… I did?”

“...Quite. The initial scouting indicates that… you may have slain every one in the city.”

“It was not conscious,” he admitted. “All I saw was that Demyx was bleeding out and the soulbinding reacted to all that--”

“--and the rush of emotions triggered magic. Of course it did.”

Ienzo lay back a little. “So without the three of them… and no Heartless…”

“The capital city’s under the control of the resistance.” But there was no happiness in his expression.

“Shouldn’t we be… glad? This is among the best case scenarios--”

“The sudden death of Xehanort and two of his sons has caused something like a power vacuum. The people don’t know how to react. There’s still darkness and various devotees of it spread throughout the country. Some states have turned over towards us, but others are… hesitant. Waiting to see might happen. And there are those who are outright fighting. Aeleus and Isa are among the front line, trying to see what can be done to restore order without worsening things. Meanwhile your father is trying to pursue international aid… and research better ways to defeat the darkness.”

“And of you?”

A pause. “I’ve been taking care of you.”

“I’m sure you’ll be relieved to go back to research, then.”

Even reached forward to smooth Ienzo’s hair. “To be truthful, it has been nice, to have this space to think. To consider.”

Ienzo understood. “...It’s alright if you’re upset, Even.”

“It is so silly , that I feel such guilt for killing one who’s killed thousands with his actions--but my feelings are not important.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case.” Ienzo struggled to sit up; Even adjusted the pillows under him. “So much for fighting back.”

“I think you’ve done enough. You must recover for what comes next.”

“Amalia. I need to see her.”

He hesitated.

“Please, Even.”

“...Quite.” He seemed to go a little deeper into himself. “Perhaps there will be one day when I’m not constantly in fear of your life.”

“I sincerely hope so.”

Ienzo watched him leave the room. He’d never seen Even so scattered before, so almost… unsure . Had something else happened he was not telling Ienzo, about the man calling himself Ansem? That bruise…

He hadn’t been conscious long, but he was already exhausted. He could still feel his legs, but moving was the problem. Perhaps he could get a wheelchair, and get around that way? He couldn’t seriously sit around and do nothing while all this fighting happened--

The door opened. In came Demyx, carrying their daughter. She’d gotten even bigger since Ienzo last saw her--another month he’d missed--and she was chewing on a teething ring. “Hey,” he said, softly. Like Even, his eyes were closed off.

“How do you feel?” Ienzo asked.

“Me? Oh, I’m fine. Ugly scar, but oh well, right? How are… you?” Amalia was staring at him, not with fear like before, but perhaps curiosity. Ienzo tried to reach out to her with his magic, but it was like swatting wet laundry; it didn’t come instantly to his call. So instead he reached out one trembling hand. She smiled and handed him the slimy teething ring. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sure daddy doesn’t want that.”

“Could I…” He wasn’t sure he was physically strong enough to hold her.

“Ah… sure.” Demyx pulled the chair closer to the bed and plopped her onto the mattress. “I’ve been… bringing her in here for a while every day. While daddy takes his long nap, right?”

She made a sound like “boo.”

“She talks.” Tears rose to his eyes.

“Well. Vocalizes.”

She clapped her hands together.

“And she can hold herself up.”

“She crawls, too. Ah--like that.” She had dragged herself almost across Ienzo’s lap. “I have a feeling she’ll be running before long.”

Amalia looked up at him and made a noise that could only be expressed as ���?”

“Daddy,” Demyx said to her helpfully. “You remember now, yeah.”

“Baba.”

“Daddy. Good.” He smoothed the curls off her forehead.

Ienzo felt a rush of affection which was almost painful. “Look at you, big girl.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. She tugged at the sleeve of his robe. “Can you help me?” he asked Demyx.

“Sure.” He eased her into his lap. Amalia pressed her cheek against his chest. “See? Crisis averted.”

“I’m guessing the curls came from you.”

“The only time my hair was long enough to tell was when I was underwater, so.” He shrugged. Amalia gave him a toothless smile. “Look at you, happy girl.”

Ienzo noticed the difference in his voice when he spoke to the two of them. “Are you comfortable? Here?”

“Oh, yeah. Ansem set us up nice in your old room. If you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?”

Another shrug. “Oof, drool patrol.” He grabbed a tissue and dabbed at it. “She’s teething something wicked.”

“Maybe the next time you come you could bring me a book, so I could read to her.”

“She’d probably like that.”

Ienzo wrapped his arms loosely around her, and she let him. Feeling the warmth and weight of her--the subtle twitch of her limbs-- and hearing her little babbling eased this awful ache he’d had for so long. “I missed you,” he said to her. He kissed her head. “I missed you so much. I just… hope we can be a family now.”

“That would be nice,” he said softly. “Wouldn’t it?” The last part he repeated in a goofy voice, and Amalia laughed. “You think you’ll be okay?”

“Even’s optimistic. And I trust him.”

“He’s been up here almost constantly.”

“But the castle is… safe, for you two?”

“Oh, yeah. Magic users crawling out of the woodwork to help. I've still got some fight in me."

“I hope that soon I can be back on my feet, and start being a bigger part of her life.”

“One thing at a time.” Ienzo wondered if he was imagining the flatness in his eyes. “Isn’t that right, Li-li?”

---

It took Ienzo weeks to start feeling something resembling “normal.” For several nights the pain of his healing nerves kept him awake, but at least once it was through with he could limp around a little. He could play with Amalia a little more actively. Physical therapy made him somewhat stronger, and while he had to use a cane to walk more than a few steps, Even believed it would be gone before long.

Members of his family and the resistance ducked in and out. Ansem brought him books, briefed him on the situation as it developed. “Almost feels as though my skills to rule have grown rusty,” he admitted. “It is difficult to tell… which members of parliament left are lying, when they say they did not hold any allegiance towards Xehanort. I’m tempted to dissolve the whole thing and hold elections, but we simply can’t do so at the moment. Making sure our people are fed and safe and cared for is more important than politics at the moment. Thankfully the bordering nations have been kind enough to send along resources and medics.”

“I wish I could help,” Ienzo said. “Being here, waylaid and helpless --”

Ansem just patted his hand. “You jumpstarted a revolution, Ienzo,” he said.

“So I’m told, but I wonder if you all are exaggerating to salve my ego.”

The pat became more of a squeeze. “Control of Radiant Garden was crucial,” he said. “And you achieved that.”

“Only because Xehanort mortally wounded Demyx, and I reacted instinctively--were it not for that my whole plan would’ve collapsed--”

“Ienzo. Why are you being hard on yourself?”

He felt tears in his eyes. “These past six months… I’ve been sitting here in luxury playing silly mind games while my daughter grew up without me, while the rest of you suffered. ”

“You did the best you could with what you had--and you did pretty damn well. This guilt is pointless, Ienzo.”

“I… I know.”

“We are together now. We will rebuild. And I hope things will be better than they were before.”

He sniffled. “Is it over? Can it just be over?”

Ansem drew him into an embrace.

---

Spring began in earnest. Ienzo realized one morning as he woke in the infirmary that the lingering smell of darkness that had hung over Radiant Garden was gone, and a fresh rain brought in the sea air. He no longer needed the cane, but he tired easily, and his legs still ached tremendously. Once he was well enough, he insisted that he be more involved in the reconstruction, insofar as he could.

There was the reality of Xehanort’s youngest son’s experiments. Ienzo had purged the Heartless, but the poor people who had not been transformed were instead traumatized and in some cases catatonic. While there were doctors and psychologists willing to help them, it was hard to tell if they could be helped. Ansem organized national days of mourning for those who had been lost, and released the lists of names so families could have closure. The youngest son had kept meticulous records.

He asked community leaders to come forward with ideas as to help their nation move on. Darkness still existed; but now that people had hope, they were more willing to fight. That, and with the darkness easing, they were getting early signs that the planet could still heal. Ienzo swore he could feel its pulse, its life reaching up to his magic. He wished he did not feel so powerless.

“We don’t want things to go back to the way they were,” Ansem said in a broadcast. “Clearly, “normal” meant “suffering” for some. Darkness… only made that pain more obvious. If we wish to maintain the light, we must heal one another.”

Finally, Ienzo was well enough to go back to his rooms, and begin repairing his family… because it was going to take a lot of work. Amalia was more familiar with him, more comfortable, but still she always looked towards Demyx when she needed something.

And there was the matter of… Demyx.

At first Ienzo thought the distance between them was all paranoia on his part, but it became clear in the way Demyx spoke to him, especially when it came to their daughter. “You dressed her in that? She hates that one, it’s itchy against her scales.” “Sure. You can do that. I guess.” “Look, I know you’re trying, but strawberries give her gas .” “You let her nap too long. Now she’s not going to sleep through the night.” That, and the flatness in his eyes. It wasn’t openly unfriendly, but it lacked the warmth that they’d had before.

More straining than this, in some ways, was sharing a bed. Ienzo had honestly been looking forward to reconnecting on a physical level--he hoped it would help him sleep the deep way he had when they lived together--but that first night Demyx just rolled onto his side and fell asleep. He let it go a few nights, wondering if it were just a pain of readjustment, if he were just used to sleeping alone. Finally, he just got fed up and crawled over to spoon him, jerking him out of his sleep. “What are you--?”

“Trying to touch you?”

“Well could you please not?”

For a moment there was just silence.

Demyx exhaled heavily and ran his hand through his hair. “Look, I… I’m sorry for snapping. But I… I’m not comfortable .”

Ienzo swallowed and felt a lump in his throat. “Would you prefer I slept elsewhere?”

“No, it’s… it’s fine.”

Ienzo eased back to his side of the bed. He knew he would not be able to sleep. As it was, he was struggling not to cry.

The next day they behaved as normally as they could in front of their daughter, but when Ansem came and asked if he could spend some time with her, Ienzo agreed before Demyx could get a word in edgewise. “We need to talk,” Ienzo said.

Demyx wrinkled his nose. “Do we have to?”

“Yes. We do.” Ienzo was surprised to feel his temper flare, but he kept it in check. “Look, we’re… we’re parents, and we’re soulmates . A lot has happened, and you have a right to feel the way you do. But that can’t begin to heal if we keep ignoring it.”

He seemed to not know what to say.

“How do you feel, Demyx?” Ienzo asked.

He rubbed at his arm. “I feel like… I feel…” He swallowed. “Something’s just wrong ? With me?”

“You’re processing.”

“Not that. I don’t know. For a long time I just missed you so much it hurt, and I didn’t know how I was going to do any of it, be her dad, or…” He trailed off, a flush darkening his face. “And then I saw you again, and you were alive, and I was so happy and so relieved and I don’t know what happened since then. Something’s wrong.”

A suspicion slid into place, and Ienzo’s voice shook when he asked, “wrong how ?”

Tears flooded his eyes. “I don’t feel anything. When I look at you. You’re the father of my child. But it’s just… I feel like… I was meant to be her dad, but… I don’t know if I’m meant to be with you?” His voice quivered and broke. “I want to. I want to be in love with you again. But I…”

“I think I understand,” Ienzo said woodenly.

Demyx hesitated. He stared at Ienzo for a moment, and then he took a few steps forward and kissed him, hard.

And it was different.

Physically, it felt the same, the way they moved together. But it was just a nice kiss, without the heavy reassurance that yes , this is part of you, everything is safe, everything is okay.

In his mind’s eye, Ienzo saw Xehanort gouging him below the heart. “Oh,” he said softly.

“What’s wrong with me, Ienzo? Am I just depressed?”

“No,” he said. Numbly, he pulled away.

“...What?”

And then he started laughing.

“ What ?”

Once he began, he couldn’t stop, until tears were running down his face, and he couldn’t breathe, and somewhere the gasps of laughter became sobs, and he was curled in a ball on the floor. He felt Demyx’s hand on his back, warm but the touch was so wrong .

“Ienzo. What is it?”

He looked up. “Xehanort broke the soulbound.”

[overwatchworks]

Blackwatch Week: Mirrors

Genji looked anywhere but at his own reflection while Dr. Ziegler worked on attaching the wires on the back of his head to some monitors. He looked at those instead, watching the way little symbols and bursts of colour popped up on the screen. His heartbeat, his blood pressure, his nerve to mechanic wirings...

“Alright, take some deep breaths in for me please.” Angela instructed, Genji breathing in deeply. In and out, in and out.

“Alright, good. Wiggle your fingers on the right hand. Move your arms for a comparison.”

The thing in the mirrors on three sides of him moved with him, the motion catching in the corner of Genji’s vision. He tried to ignore it.

“Demonstrate the shruiken.”

Genji hated being told to dance like a puppet, to show off, to ‘demonstrate’ for the higher ups. Always, he had to show them what new enhancements had been made, what abilities he had, dehumanizing himself in front of a crowd of power hungry politicians and beady-eyed scientists.

“As you can see, the new mechanics for his arm are working smoothly. His internal processes are displayed on the screen as well. Thanks to the new technology I have been working on, he has a completely reinforced ribcage and torso.” Dr. Ziegler told the gathering of people, Genji eyeing them all coldly. He hated each and every one of them. But none of them even spared him a glance.

“Would you possibly consider further cybernization, Dr. Ziegler? It seems as though the patient could be of even more use should you add greater enhancements.” One of the doctors called out. Genji’s gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowing dangerously as Ziegler cleared her throat next to him.

“Not without his permission, no. I would not.” She stated firmly. A politician spoke up next.

“Perhaps it is not his choice to make. Dr. Ziegler, I appreciate the nature of your work, but you must also appreciate mine. When you brought Agent Shimada in, he made an agreement to—“

“Save his life. That is all the permission he gave us, and I will honour that.” Angela interrupted.

“He agreed to aid the organization in whichever ways we deemed fit in exchange for his life. It seems he should be the one honouring our deal.” The politician continued calmly, Angela pursing her lips and gripping her tablet tighter at his words. 

She always tried to defend him, but it never changed the fact that the organization got what it wanted every time. The subject was out of her hands and everyone in the room knew it. Genji had resigned himself to that, just like these meetings. They would only ever try to make him less human, a better weapon to wield from afar. He hated it almost as much as he hated himself.

“I...Do not think it is wise. I am still in the process of making his prosthetics and systems work to their full potential, and he still needs to heal both physically and mentally from what has happened. I do not advise your suggestion.” Angela finally told them.

“We will note your advice, but our orders still stand. You had better hurry those processes, Doctor. I would like another report in a week.” The politician spoke with finality, Dr. Ziegler’s brows furrowed in displeasure. She nodded anyways. Genji tuned out of the meeting after that conversation.

-

“Dammit!” Angela shouted, her hand balling into a fist and raising before her face went slack in defeat, arm dropping back to her side. The meeting had ended ten minutes ago, the cyborg refitting some armour into place after the doctor had taken him off of the machinery. Ziegler had been pensive and silent until now.

“I’m so sorry...” She whispered. Genji glanced at her, his faceplate sliding into place with a hiss.

“Do not be. You are merely doing your job. I appreciate your work and defense for me, but the decision is not yours to make.”

“But it should be yours...It needs to be yours.”

“It never was.”

The cyborg stood from the examination table and bowed his head ever so slightly to Angela.

“Good evening, doctor.” He murmured, leaving the med bay silently. Genji could feel the edges of his mind starting to fog in the familiar sensation of dissociation as he walked, and he closed his eyes briefly. He couldn’t focus on that, not now. He needed a distraction. 

The ninja suddenly found himself in front of Jesse’s room, not quite sure how he had gotten there but accepting it nonetheless. Knocking on the door, Genji waited for the cowboy to open it. Jesse smiled at him when he opened it, but his expression faded when he saw the look on Genji’s face.

“Heya. Come on in.”

Genji stepped inside without a word or greeting, simply standing in the hallway behind the gunslinger as the door slid shut.

“Been a rough day?” Jesse asked softly, his hand pressing against the small of Genji’s back and coaxing him forward.

“Meetings.“ Was all the ninja supplied, but Jesse nodded, understanding.

“Ah. Well, at least it’s over now, yeah?”

“But for how long...? They...They want to mutilate me further, they want to make me less human, they want to turn me into a weapon, to change me, destroy me even more than they already have—!” Genji cut himself off with a choked sound, his shaking hand coming up to his faceplate and pulling it off. 

He was crying, but they were distant tears, Genji not really certain why they were there. Or maybe he was just telling himself that, because as soon as Jesse’s arms wrapped around him, it hit him like a blow to the gut. Genji’s face crumpled as he gripped at Jesse tightly, a sob leaving his throat and shaking his chest. The ninja pressed his face against the crook of Jesse’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing he didn’t have to feel so much. 

He was furious, heartbroken, terrified. Human. He didn’t want to lose that too.

Jesse stood there with him until he pulled himself together enough to straighten and wipe his eyes. The ninja didn’t say anything as Jesse led him to the bathroom to clean up. He stood at the sink, staring at the running water and leaning his weight on the counter as he fought down a sudden wave of nauseousness. 

Genji didn’t want more cybernization, he wanted to keep as much of himself human as possible. It was already hard hard enough trying to come to terms with his body, but more “enhancements” would make it nigh impossible. There was only so much of him left that they could take. Startled out of his thoughts by a gentle hand to his back, Genji glanced over at the cowboy, still at his side.

“Ya sure you’re alright...?”

“No...No I’m not fucking alright. Look at me!” Genji growled, eyes snapping up to the mirror and meeting his own hard, glowing red ones.

“I’m so fucked up, I’m just some sort of experiment to them! I’m nothing to them but a means of improvement, I’ll never be good enough as I am! I’ll always have something wrong with me!”

Thoughts of his time in the clan bled back into his mind, clouded with looks of disappointment and reprimand just for existing. Elders tisking at his behaviour, Hanzo glaring at him when he came home late, his eyes turning to those of scientists as they poked and prodded at him to see what he could do better. Nothing he ever did in life would be good enough for the people around him.

“Ya keep feedin’ yerself thoughts like that, it’ll just make it worse.” The cowboy murmured, stepping behind Genji and nuzzling against his temple.

“I can’t help it! I hate this! I hate all of it!” Genji cried, unable to look away from his reflection now, the lights feeling too bright, red tinting the edges of his vision.

“I know. An’ ya have every right ta feel that way. But that doesn’t mean ya gotta let those feelings take over. You’re stronger than that. You’re better than what those voices in yer head are tellin’ ya you are. An’ I’m always here fer ya if you can’t believe it just yet.” Jesse told him, Genji’s brows furrowing at his words before he grit his teeth. The cyborg jabbed a finger towards his scarred face, a self-loathing glare darkening his eyes.

“Then tell me this is perfect, tell me it’s pretty, it’s desirable.” Genji hissed, Jesse’s eyes meeting his in their reflection.

“Nah, it ain’t perfect. But that’s what makes it pretty. That’s what makes it desirable. An’ I do think yer pretty, hell, yer gorgeous. But it ain’t just about yer face, never was. I love you, and everythin’ about ya. An’ I’ll love it all for ya until you realize it too, an’ see what I see.”

Genji blinked into the mirror, breath catching as Jesse wrapped his arms around his waist from behind. He was quiet for a long moment, then he looked down at where the cowboy’s hands were intertwined at his stomach.

“...You mean it?” Genji asked, voice barely above a whisper. He hated feeling so needy for confirmation, but he had to know. He needed to know for sure.

“Yeah, I do.” Jesse murmured.

Genji closed his eyes and turned in the embrace, resting his head against the gunslinger’s chest. Jesse took Genji’s chin with his thumb and forefinger lightly, turning his face up to his own.

“It’s gonna be okay. I’m here for ya.”

Genji nodded, then pressed up into the gentle kiss Jesse placed on his lips.

“Now c’mon, let’s do somethin’ else ta get yer mind offa it.”

“Alright...”

Jesse tugged on Genji’s hand on the way out of the bathroom, the ninja looking back and glancing at his reflection. It wasn’t perfect, but it looked much better with Jesse there at his side.

~~

[thefoxesboxes]

A Gathering of Guys

Time to get back into the saddle on these reviews! This one has been a long time coming, something I honestly meant to review many months ago. But, between teaching English and travelling around the world, this writing fox has had a significant decrease in available brainpower. Did watching this movie for a second time help? Will it have passed the vulpine standards check? Look under the cut to find out as we discuss the “First R-Rated CGI Cartoon”, Sausage Party.

To begin, I will preface two things. First, I love animation. The creativity and freedom that can be made from almost any kind of animated movie has always been an easy way to make me happy. Look at movies like Zootopia, Spirited Away, and even Aladdin. These movies are each dramatically different in tone, style, and overall thematics. But they’re all some of my favorite movies. Even if I think CGI is overdone in the modern animation market, it still doesn’t detract from my love of watching something creative and fresh.

I also don’t mind movies that are using raunchy or vulgar humor. A movie like Deadpool can make me laugh pretty hard at the stupid jokes and over the top violence that it employs. A movie like this should use the language and themes to push the style of the movie. Is it a violent story with a murderous mercenary hell bent on revenge? Yeah, dark and violent, but add in the fun. These things can break up the movie into a more manageable tone than most people would like. Look at the difference in things like DC and Marvel, or new Ghostbusters and old Ghostbusters. That’s a coming review, by the way.

So the big point is that this movie is awful. It’s a raunchy and joke filled movie, but it’s never creative. It’s like someone took the movie FoodFight and pushed up the production quality and age rating. The movie is graphic, violent, and full of warnings for mature content and imagery. The whole movie tries very, very hard to make sure you know that this is mature and grown up.

Maturity, in this sense, means something that says the word ‘fuck’ approximately 1.85 times a minute, often in heavy bursts. Maturity is something that makes incredibly sophomoric and heavy handed assertions about the nature of religion and real life interactions between thousand year old cultures. Mature is when you have the movies plotline come to a screeching halt to constantly point out how edgy you are over and over again. Mature, in this sense, is being a 15 year old on Reddit screaming about how you took the red pill and don’t believe in things like religion, man.

There is nothing really mature here. At all.

“Just the tips” What the fuck is a tip? Your finger? Why does a hotdog have a glove but the lady doesn’t? Save it. It’ll keep.

But let’s talk detail. First, the movie has a song. It’s not a bad song, at least for how it’s written and sung. It’s really mostly just kind of tuneless and shifts a lot into ways that obviously want to invoke religious worship songs, but doesn’t do that very well. The song does a great job of setting the tone of this movie, which is “Religious people are dumb, ya here?”. It’s not really something I want to get into, but it slides nicely into the hotdog bun of hatred I have for this movie.

The writing.

As mentioned, the writing is self-congratulatory about the idea of being R-rated when it doesn’t know what that should mean. It decided to go out of its way to be a cartoon about hotdogs and sex before seemingly having any direction, as the world itself and characters are all over the place. Do they make any particular point using food that couldn’t be done with a different material? Nope. Do they make timely or classical references throughout the movie? Well, Meatloaf plays a singing Meatloaf. They make a “To Sir with Love” reference, which intrudes on one of my absolutely favorite films ever. Saving Private Ryan? Not exactly timeless.

But the writing reflects worst on characters and dialogue. While the voice acting is, mostly, fine it’s really just the characters are a bunch of assholes. Remember that scene in Star Wars where Han Solo doesn’t believe in the Force and Luke lectures him despite having learned about it that afternoon? That happens about atheism. Our beef tube hero who’s name I really don’t care to remember (it’s Frank) learns that the Gods are evil people who eat them! Oh no! So he immediately starts bashing everyone for believing in the Gods that he believed in until literally an hour ago. He makes no good points, he seems ridiculously hypocritical, and he’s just kind of a douche.

A running theme in this movie, the main villain is a literal douche. A douche who gets a tear and loses his douchey fluids, so he needs to replenish them to restore his superpowers. This begins with him forcefully and graphically violating a damaged juice container in a way obviously reminiscent of forceful oral sex. This scene was the first one that was simply disgusting, including him commenting that he’s “Juicin’ up” to reference steroids. A rape scene, classy as hell. This only continues as this literal douche walks about to murder the main heroes will constantly repeating the same joke over and over again. His plans involved him being able to teleport, his reason for revenge was almost understandable, but being a rapist murderer really made me not care about this villain.

Also. This joke. Five fucking times.

Other than the Frankfurter Hero and Douchey Villain, we have side characters. Jewish Bagel, Mexican Lesbian Taco, overly voluptuous hotdog bun, Muslim/Middle Eastern lavash, gay Twinkee, black grits, and Firewater. These stereotypes are the closest thing to characters that exist in this film and they mostly exist pretty much solely within those roles. They exist to either be stereotypes, be annoying, or try to poke mature points at the concept of geographically interconnected regions and classically dependent cultures having feuds with each other. But let’s talk about that in terms of the world.

These foods exist for, what, a week? They exist in the same aisles, for the same goals, and often have to interact with each other for their entire existence. Their existences, mind you, which are created for explicit purpose. Why do they have different viewpoints of the Gods, to the point where it is this disseminated? Is it to make a point about the rapid distribution of altering ideals among short lived humanity? I don’t know, it just seems to be extremely crass ways to point out that these things exist and are stupid. Again a running theme.

The last major theme I want to mention is consistency. A world needs to be made in a way that follows an internal logic. Yes, magic should be explained, a world should be detailed, and even comedy should follow some form and function. If there is no law dictated within the world, then there’s no reason for me to really pay attention to what you’re doing. It’s all just whitenoise for the pretense of having jokes.

This movie fails worldbuilding with a capital F and a giant minus. The food is alive, so are douches and some other inanimate objects! But things like shoes and ladles are not, why? Why isn’t the knife alive? When we open up a thing of off brand Mentos, each of those little mints is alive. Is this things ass full of living organisms that will proceed to exist in total isolation until released?  If I make a sandwich, is it a composite of painfully attached different creatures to each other? They did show that composite foods exist as a single entity, so does that mean that pushing cheese and wheat germ together creates a new living entity? The entire idea doesn’t make sense when you show that some things would require the painful things to exist. Pizza, sandwiches, all of it. How does it work? The movie doesn’t tell you.

This line here indicates that the peanut butter, married to jelly, is only alive as it is the container. But why isn’t the bag the hotdogs were in alive, or the box? There’s no sense to be had in this madness. Just extremely dry hotdogs.

Not that the external world is any better. Remember in Toy Story where the toys could move and had to very specifically hide that fact? Yeah, this movie says fuck it. Some of the foods move and we see people view it as a hot dog rolling around. But then the hot dog gets up, dodges, ducks, dips, dives, and dodges. They even stab a hot dog standing up in the middle of the air, or they can run across the street. Do people see them or not? It’s pointed out that they need to be literally high on bath salts to see the  food moving, but then can the food interact with the world when not on bath salts? How come the food never moves and people don’t notice it? Why do I even watch anything attached to Seth Rogan? Why did you ruin my night, Seth?

This isn’t even getting into the ending. The movie ended two separate times at the end, once when the orgy of murder happened, and once when the orgy that murdered the movie happened. There’s a full orgy, it takes actually 5 minutes to get through. Does it add to the plot? Nope. Does it push anything? Nah, it’s also the scaled down version from the honestly horrifying original script Seth Rogan spent years drafting up. Fuck him so much.

There’s also a murder orgy where the food kills everyone. Apparently we can’t beat hotdogs. Who knew? A guy gets turned into a testicle puppet by the douche, carries a giant revolver that apparently has 8 bullets in it. They make Terminator and Wizard of Oz references. A merry time was had by apparently a lot of people that aren’t me.

Also, the food smoke weed that is… Apparently not alive? Why is the marijuana not alive? Fuck it. Probably some stupid point.

The main point is this. The movie contains many flaws and

Fuck this movie. Fuck you Seth Rogan for your grinning assholery. Fuck the critics who think this movie is an insightful and raunchy godsend so they can openly enjoy cartoons. Fuck the idea that this movie grossed tons of money and will probably get some kinda sequel or spinoff. Fuck the media that believes that maturity is the juvenile banter of an idiot who cannot stop dragging his political diatribes into a different subject. And fuck this movie for killing any chance Kubo and the Two Strings had of being a financial success.

Summary? This movie is crass, brash, vulgar and tasteless. It’s also somehow not brave enough to say anything that has any real merit or in a way that’s unique. It’s a movie obsessed with its own egotistical idea of being the ‘first’ but has no idea of how to make that something worth seeing. This movie is just a waste of time. It’s a mix of immature and well past it’s expiration date.

[viddasaala]

title: sugar daddy

pairings: willy wonka/linguini

fandoms: charlie and the chocolate factory + ratatouille

summary: after remy and linguini’s restaurant goes under, linguini is forced to accept a job at wonka’s factory, but he finds himself enticed by the candy man’s lunacy. 

words: 2.8k (seriously)

enjoy my masterpiece

Linguini stepped in front of the Wonka Factory’s menacing gates. He held Remy in the palm of his hand, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. His old restaurant with Remy had gone under, and Linguini needed cash. Fast. The prospect of potentially inheriting Wonka’s factory was too great to resist, but in order to do that, he’d need to lie about being a master chef. Again. Linguini would be lying if it was just the money that enticed him. Wonka was elusive and mysterious, and it piqued his curiosity like never before.

“Okay, little chef, I’m going to need you to do your puppeteering thing again. I’m sorry to put you in this position again, but….We really need this,” Linguini said, his eyes shining with desperation. Remy simply nodded, and Linguini gently placed Remy on his head, then covered his head with a Wonka factory hat.

Linguini stepped forward and gently pushed the red button in front of him. The menacing gates swung open, and Linguini stepped forward into his uncertain future. As soon as Linguini stepped forward toward the factory, the gates suddenly closed behind him. Linguini swallowed hard, and made his way to the door.

A tall and slim figure stepped out of the door, adorned in vibrant purples and golds. He held a cane in his hand, and he smiled brightly at the sight of Linguini. His smile had a hint of mischief, which was slightly unnerving to Linguini.

“Ah, you must be Linguini! I’ve heard so much about you!” Wonka shouted, forcefully grabbing Linguini’s hand and rapidly shaking it. Despite the fact that Wonka looked like a twig, Linguini could feel immense strength behind his grip. Linguini wondered to himself how Wonka could be so strong….He found it attractive.

“Um, yes! I’m Linguini. I’m here to, ah, help you make candy,” Linguini chuckled nervously, looking away. He found himself fighting away embarrassment. He silently hoped that his face wasn’t bright red.

“Yes, yes! You’ll need to get started right away! Right away!” Wonka shouted with enthusiasm. Linguini found himself reeling from his enthusiasm. “This way, this way!”

Wonka opened the door behind him, and they both stepped into his factory. Linguini noticed dwarfish orange skinned people working their small frames away. He couldn’t help but make an internal comparison to a certain American president.

“Oh, these hard workers are my Oompa Loompas. They work quite hard! Without them, nothing in this factory would be possible,” Wonka explained, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, um.” Linguini had no idea what to say, but he found himself comparing the Oompa Loompas to Remy. Without Remy, nothing Linguini did was possible, just like the Oompa Loompas with Wonka. Maybe Wonka and I are more similar than I thought….

“So, Mr. Wonka, where am I going to be working?” Linguini inquired, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m glad you asked! And please, call me Willy,” Wonka insisted. He gestured for Linguini to follow him, and began walking down the ornately decorated halls. Linguini silently followed him, observing his surroundings.

Eventually, the two made it to a workstation with contraptions that Linguini had never seen before in his life. He was sure that Remy would know what to do. He hoped that Remy would know what do, at least. We need to impress Mr. Wonka, wait, no, the money !

“Ah, Miste- Willy. I don’t know how to work any of these machines.”

“Oh, let me show you!” Wonka grabbed Linguini’s hand and lead him over to one of the machines.

“This one is called the Doodlysnoofer. You’ll use it to mix new flavors.”

Linguini was too distracted by the warmth permeating from Wonka’s gloved hand that he had no idea what to say. Wonka gestured to the buttons and explained what they did, but all Linguini could focus on was the fact that the elusive, and very attractive Wonka was touching him.

Remy noticed that Linguini wasn’t paying attention, so he gave a hard pull on Linguini’s hair to draw him away from his thoughts. Linguini visibly winced, and he bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from shouting in pain.

“I think that’s all I have for you. Let me or one of my Oompa Loompas know if you’re having any trouble. I can’t wait to see what you come up with, Linguini,” Wonka said with a wink and a smile, before he began to strut away from them.

If Linguini didn’t know better, he’d say that he was starting to develop a bit of a crush on Wonka. Who could blame him? His entire motivation at first was money, but if he could….he’d love to hold Wonka’s hand or something. He thought that’d be pretty neat.

“Oh, little chef, what am I getting us into?” Linguini murmured, staring at the contraptions in front of him.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hours later, Linguini found himself with a few creations that he found acceptable. He certainly hoped they’d be palatable to Wonka. Linguini let Remy sneak some candy, too, as a token of his gratitude.

“So! Linguini! How’s everything coming along?” Wonka suddenly shouted, appearing next to Linguini. Linguini’s face went bright red with surprise. He jumped, almost dropping his spoon.

“Miste- Willy! Um, everything’s coming along okay. I’ve come up with a few taffy flavors that you might like,” Linguini said, fixing his gaze away from Wonka’s. His gaze was too intense- it made his stomach twist and turn.

“Ooh, I can’t wait to taste it.” Wonka reached for the taffy that Linguini made.

“That taffy’s apple pie flavor,” Linguini explained with a shy smile.

“Excellent.” Wonka took a bite that was almost too seductive for Linguini to bear. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him for a second. Could- could Wonka be attracted to me too?

“This has excellent flavor. Nice work!” Wonka exclaimed, grinning. A blush crept onto Linguini’s face, and he suddenly turned his head away from Wonka in an attempt to conceal it.

Wonka simply chuckled. “Well, I’ve got other work to get to, but I’ll be seeing you in a bit. Ta-ta!”

And as quick as he had appeared, Wonka vanished. Linguini let out a sharp sigh, and lifted his head off of his hat to let Remy out. He scooped Remy off his head with his hands and smiled down at his little friend.

“Oh little chef, what have I gotten us into?” Remy looked up at Linguini, confused.

“This is going to sound really crazy, but I think I might...like Willy. He’s so mysterious, and I don’t know what to do with myself whenever he’s around. I know I shouldn’t be developing feelings for him, so I’m going to try my best to hide them,” Linguini said quietly with a sigh.

Remy simply looked up at Linguini and blinked. Linguini let out a laugh. Sometimes, Linguini wished that Remy could talk to him so he’d knock some sense into him. Even though they couldn’t necessarily communicate the way Linguini wanted him to, he was never alone as long as he had Remy.

Later on, Wonka came to check in with Linguini. They exchanged flirtatious touches and glances- and Linguini could barely hold himself together whenever Wonka was near. He was falling hard, and fast. He needed to do something.

On all of his breaks, Linguini would sit and quietly talk to Remy. Talking to his little friend made the days go by faster and it made them easier- his passionate infatuation with Wonka aside. Whenever Linguini felt stressed, his little chef helped the stress melt away.

“Little chef, I think I’m really falling for Wonka. I know I’ve been in love before, and things with Collette didn’t exactly work out, but- I’ve never felt this way before. I really, really like him. I hope...he likes me too,” Linguini said with a lovesick smile.

Wonka’s back was pressed against the wall nearby. He hadn’t wanted to interrupt, but...he could barely believe his ears. Linguini likes him! That way! Wonka could feel his heart beating in his ears. Wonka didn’t know what he could say to him, but he found himself wanting to rush towards Linguini and sweep him up in a kiss.

Wonka drew in a deep breath, and decided that he had to confess. Wonka had never felt this way about anyone, but that was a given when he was surrounded by Oompa Loompas for company. Wonka whispered some words of encouragement to himself, then stepped out to confess to Linguini.

“Linguini!” Wonka exclaimed. Linguini looked up at him with surprise. “I- who were you talking to just now?”

“Um, just myself. I...like to call myself Little Chef, aha,” Linguini lied with an awkward chuckle.

“You and I have a lot in common. I mean, I don’t call myself ‘Little Chef’ or anything, but I do talk to myself. About..feelings.”

“Y-you heard that?” Linguini’s face froze in horror, but Wonka simply nodded with a bashful smile.

“I did! And I feel the same. I want to be your sugar daddy, Linguini,” Wonka confessed.

“I don’t think you’re using that phrase right, but...wow. Wow,” Linguini’s face simply gaped, joy and happiness bursting inside of him.

Wonka laughed and rushed towards Linguini, sweeping him up in a passionate kiss. Even after Wonka pulled apart, Linguini could feel Wonka’s heat on his lips. Linguini laughed, his face as red as a tomato.

“Your lips are sweet, Willy. You definitely could be my sugar daddy,” Linguini said with an awkward laugh, immediately regretting what he said as soon as the words left his lips. Wonka wanted to plant even more kisses on Linguini’s lips, but he also enjoyed looking at his big nose.

“I hate to say it, but I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you later,” Wonka said with a wink. And in a flash, Wonka was gone.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Every time Linguini and Wonka saw each other, they would passionately make out. Linguini was grateful that the Oompa Loompas weren’t the gossiping types, but Linguini and Wonka would sneak away all the time to smooch.

Their main meeting place was Wonka’s glass elevator. They would sit under the comforting stars and talk about their feelings, about their pasts. Linguini felt like he could trust Wonka with anything, but there was one secret he didn’t bother telling Wonka about- Remy.

“I used to have a restaurant in France, but it quickly got shut down. I inherited it from my father, Gusteau. But...he never raised me. I’m his bastard kid,” Linguini said nonchalantly, taking a swig of wine.

“That Gusteau? No wonder why you’re so skilled at making candy. And it explains why you’re so skilled with your hands in general,” Wonka said with a hearty laugh.

Linguini nearly choked on his wine at that comment. “Oh, um. Yeah, I guess that could explain it.”

“I’m just teasing, Linguini. It’s cute when you become as red as a tomato, though. I should try to tease you more often!” Wonka said with a laugh.

“You know, Wonka, I never thought that I’d have something like this again. You complete me in ways I never knew could be completed,” Linguini said with a smile, leaning in to kiss Wonka’s lips. Wonka could smell the fruity scent of wine on Linguini. Their lips brushed, and the two felt whole.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

During one of his breaks, Linguini sat on a stool with Remy cupped in his hands.

“You know Little Chef, I can’t help but wonder how much Willy’s going to pay us for this. I mean, sure, the other perks are nice, but...I really want to know how much we’ll get paid for all our trouble,” Linguini wondered in a hushed tone.

Remy simply blinked and nodded. Remy was trying to be supportive of Linguini and Wonka, but he could hardly see a reason for him to stay. There was no payoff, his colony was not being helped, and Remy was technically not living his dream as a chef.

“There’s one thing I’ve been wondering this whole time, though. Where does Willy keep all of his recipes? And I heard whispers about Fizzy Lifting Drinks? It sounds….interesting,” Linguini wondered, breaking off a chunk of cheese and handing it to Remy.

Wonka found himself listening in on Linguini’s conversation again, his back pressed against the wall. He felt his heart sink in his chest. Linguini was just using him like everyone else has used him! All Linguini wants is to steal from him, like everyone else.

Rage boiled inside of him, and he stepped out into Linguini’s view. Remy was already hidden back in Linguini’s hat, so that secret was safe for the time being. Wonka’s hands balled up into fists, rage boiling over.

“All you want is money, is that it? You want my recipes? You want to steal fizzy lifting drinks?!” Wonka shouted, tears brimming his eyes. “I thought you wanted to love me, but instead you want to use me, like everyone else!”

“Willy, that’s not it at all! I-I love you, I’m still here because I want to be with you!” Linguini exclaimed, attempting to shield himself from Wonka’s fury.

“Get out!” Wonka screamed, tears rolling down his cheeks.. “I don’t want to see you here again. You’re just a liar like everyone else.”

“Willy, wait-”

“I said. Get out!”

Linguini simply fell into silence after that. He gathered up his items, and looked mournfully at Wonka as he left.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

The tall and sharp gates closed behind him, leaving Linguini on the sidewalk with nowhere else to go. Despair washed over him, and he sank to his knees. Linguini just wanted to sit there forever, stewing in his misery. But Remy nudged his hand.

“Little Chef, I messed up. I messed up big time. I need- I need to talk to him again, but I doubt he’ll want to.” Remy looked up at Linguini, blinking slowly.

“I’m sorry, Little Chef.  I’m so sorry. I failed you,” Linguini whispered, tears finally falling.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Months later, Linguini found himself working for a bakery in town. He was close enough to Wonka’s factory that he could find the proper time to apologize, but he had no idea when that time would come. So he spent the days making pastries (with Remy’s help, of course. You think Linguini could make a pastry by himself? Pfffft).

And then- Wonka’s gates suddenly opened. Linguini pulled a banana bread to give to Wonka and he raced all the way to the factory without stopping. He needed to see Wonka again, he needed to apologize. He needed to make things right. Without Wonka’s warm and soothing touch, Linguini would never be at peace.

Linguini banged on the main entrance until his fists hurt. He sank to his knees and rested the bread in his lap. Tears began to fall, despair washing over him once more. He couldn’t live without Wonka. He needed him.

He had no idea how long he had been sitting there when the door swung open, revealing Wonka’s tall and well-dressed frame. Linguini simply looked up at him, trying to think of a million ways to apologize to him.

“Linguini, what are you doing here?” Wonka inquired, kneeling down to look at him face to face.

“I- I came to apologize. I’m so sorry, I messed up. I never meant to say those things. I really, really care about you. I’d do anything for you. I’m so sorry. Being with you made the happiest man on this planet. I can’t live without you,” Linguini apologized with a sad smile, and offered the banana bread to him.

“I...forgive you, Linguini. I can’t live without you, either.” Wonka took the banana bread in his arms and drew in the comforting scent.

“Wait, before you forgive me entirely, there’s something i need to show you.” Linguini liften the hat off of his head, revealing Remy. “That’s my Little Chef. He’s the one I was talking to, and he’s the reason I’m a good chef at all. I’m nothing without him.”

“Oh, oh! A rat. And i thought I had some weird secrets,” Wonka said with a laugh. “He’s cute, though. He can stay with us if you want.”

“You mean- “

“I forgive you. Please come back. I’m driving myself up the wall without you. I need you.”

“And I need you and your sugar.”

Wonka simply laughed and helped Linguini to his feet. Linguini pecked Wonka on the lips, and Wonka returned the favor with a gentle peck on Linguini’s cheek. Wonka had never been so happy in his entire life. Linguini completed him, and Linguini felt the same about him.

And from then on, the two would run the factory in peace, with the doors wide open for everyone to visit.

[gunboatbaylodge]

Things to Do in Vancouver this Weekend: March 23, 2017

It’s the first weekend of spring, and you can let the theme be life, renewal, and new beginnings – because that sounds like a pretty nice way to begin the next few days! Get in touch with your humanity and the world with films like Kedi and I am Not Your Negro, make new connections by trading art cards with friends and strangers, share time with your loved ones at Family Fuse at the Vancouver Art Gallery, and marvel at orchid blooms at the Van Dusen Garden. (Or – just go watch some creepy burlesque clowns. Choice is yours!)

Friday | Saturday | Sunday | Ongoing

Friday March 24

Vancouver Fashion Week

Vancouver Fashion Week Where: Various locations What: Fashion shows and events by designers from Vancouver and from around the world – closing parties and shows are on all weekend. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

The Daisy Theatre

The Daisy Theatre Where: The Cultch Historic Theatre What: Each performance will be different, daring, ridiculous, and on the edge of the hands of renowned puppeteer provocateur Ronnie Burkett and his resident company of over 40 marionettes. No two performances will be the same, making this a performance to see more than once. Runs until: Sunday April 9, 2017

The Lost Fleet Exhibit Where: Vancouver Maritime Museum What: On December 7, 1941 the world was shocked when Japan bombed Pearl Harbour, launching the United States into the war. This action also resulted in the confiscation of nearly 1,200 Japanese-Canadian owned fishing boats by Canadian officials on the British Columbia coast, which were eventually sold off to canneries and other non-Japanese fishermen. The Lost Fleet looks at the world of the Japanese-Canadian fishermen in BC and how deep-seated racism played a major role in the seizure, and sale, of Japanese-Canadian property and the internment of an entire people. Runs until: Winter 2017

Valley Song Where: Pacific Theatre What: Torn between the hope of the new South Africa and the familiarity of all he has known, Abraam “Buks” Jonkers tills land he will never own while his granddaughter dreams of the Johannesburg stage. A heartfelt story of tradition, change, and the resilience of the human spirit. Runs until: Saturday April 8, 2017

Carded! A Trading Card Art Show Where: Hot Art Wet City What: A one-night only show of art reproduced on trading cards. The work of fifty artists is presented on trading cards and made available for art lovers to collect and trade. These 2.5″x3.5″ cards are displayed on the gallery wall and the audience is offered the opportunity to buy random cards in mixed packs of five for $ 5. If you purchase a pack that doesn’t have your desired card, get into some fast paced trading action with the people around you. How bad do you want that card?

Kedi

Kedi Where: VanCity Theatre What: My favorite quote of the film is, “If you can’t love animals, then I think you can’t really love people either.” In Istanbul, Turkey, self-reliant cats have lived freely since before the Ottoman Empire. Yet, their existence is deeply intertwined with the lives of their human counterparts, who see themselves as guardians, rather than owners, of their four-legged friends. This movie is about cats but it is also about humanity, and understanding the world through new eyes. Runs until: Thursday March 31, 2017

Playdome

Playdome Where: BC Place Stadium What: An indoor carnival with over 45 rides and attractions, as well as carnival snacks and games. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

Vancouver Gem and Mineral Show | Work by German Kabirski

Vancouver Gem and Mineral Show Where: Playland What: Western Canada’s largest Gem show is featuring 80+ of the best gem, mineral and jewellery vendors from across Canada and abroad, bringing you unique gems, fine crystals, rare fossils, handmade jewellery, fancy beads and findings, lapidary art, lectures and demos, hourly door prizes and more. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

Angels in America Where: Arts Club Theatre What: A tale of companionship and abandonment that takes place when the personal became political. Set in New York City at the height of the Reagan era, Tony Kushner’s modern masterpiece contrasts the lives of five individuals struggling with identity issues alongside the crippling effects of stereotypes and an incurable diagnosis. Runs until: Sunday April 23, 2017

Jon Kimura Parker plays Beethoven

Jon Kimura Parker plays Beethoven Where: The Chan Centre What: One of Vancouver’s favourite sons, internationally-renowned pianist Jon Kimura Parker returns home to perform Beethoven’s gorgeous Piano Concerto No. 1. Gifted young conductor Joshua Weilerstein leads a program that also includes Schumann’s beautiful, awe-inspiring Rhine Symphony, and Nielsen’s enchanting symphonic poem Pan and Syrinx. Runs until: Saturday March 25, 2017

The Age of Electric Where: The Commodore What: In early 1998 Age of Electric played their last show supporting Our Lady Peace in Hamilton Ontario. No announcement or press release was ever issued about their dis-banding, they simply ceased to exist as the members pursued other interests.And now they’re back!

Once Upon a Time Convention Where: The Westin Bayshore What: A convention for all those who love the TV show, Once Upon a Time.

Voices from the Sacred Fire: Indigenous Land Defenders Speak

Voices from the Sacred Fire: Indigenous Land Defenders Speak Where: SFU Vancouver, 6:30pm What: Indigenous land defenders from frontline struggles speak on protecting lands and waters and asserting nationhood on their territories.

The Pull Festival Where: Speakeasy Theatre What: An annual play Festival featuring a repertoire of six or seven ten-minute plays. Pull seeks out original, un-produced plays from Vancouver based playwrights and along with its artistic team, produces, develops, dramaturges and supports the presentation of these new works. Runs until: Saturday March 25, 2017

Back to the Nineties: A Fundraiser for Accessible Spaces

Back to the Nineties: A Fundraiser for Accessible Spaces Where: HiVE What: Get chillin’ maxin’ and relaxin’ at this 90’s themed games night (board games and an N64) with friends and Vancouver’s social impact community.

Author & Punisher Where: The Astoria What: Musician and artist Tristan Shone is a 1-person industrial doom band who uses machines that are custom-designed and hand-built by himself. This is a show where half the experience is watching him play his machines in-person and not to be missed by any fan of industrial music or machines that make noises.

East Side Flea Where: 1024 Main St. What: Over 50 local vendors, food trucks, a live deejay, artisan showrooms, seasonal drink specials, pinball and more. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

    Saturday March 25

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Family FUSE Weekend Where: Vancouver Art Gallery What: Explore the galleries exhibitions through a diverse range of performances, in- gallery engagement, hands- on making activities and workshops with artists, dancers, musicians, performers and educators. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

Travis Wall’s Shaping Sound: After the Curtain Where: Queen Elizabeth Theatre What: Through his Emmy Award winning work on So You Think You Can Dance, Travis Wall has established himself as one of America’s favorite choreographers. These visual musicians continue to dazzle audiences as they tell the story of a man fighting to find his creative voice after the death of his one true love. Get $ 15 off your ticket through Tickets Tonight with promo code TIXTON.

Culture Evening at The Fort

Culture Evening at The Fort Where: Fort Langley What: Adults only night! Live music, snacks, First Nations storytelling and drinks inside Vancouver’s real fort.

ArtStarts presents Rhymes, Reason and Rascals with Story Theatre Company Where: ArtStarts Gallery What: For the kids! Three knights use stories from many cultures to show a king what is truly valuable. Story Theatre Company’s new production is bursting with short stories, tales and poems full of remarkable wisdom.

Pyrrha Trunk Show

Pyrrha Trunk Show Where: Nordstrom What: Nordstrom is showcasing the largest selection of Pyrrha jewelry ever available in Vancouver, and welcoming designers Danielle and Wade Papin for a special appearance. Handcrafted locally since 1995, Pyrrha talismans are created using authentic wax seals and imagery from the Victorian era.

Mother Mother

Mother Mother (show 1 of 3) Where: The Commodore Ballroom What:Vancouver-based electro alt-rock with songs like Bit By Bit and Monkey Tree.

I Am Not Your Negro

I Am Not Your Negro Where: VanCity Theatre and The Rio Theatre What: A journey into black history that connects the past of the Civil Rights movement to the present of #BlackLivesMatter. It is a film that questions black representation in Hollywood and beyond. And, ultimately, by confronting the deeper connections between the lives and assassination of these three leaders, Baldwin and Peck have produced a work that challenges the very definition of what America stands for. Runs until: Friday March 31, 2017

Symphony: Idea of the North

Symphony: Idea of the North Where: The Annex What: Music that originated in rather cold climates – both Canadian and otherwise. Each of the pieces on this program is inspired by the cultural or geographical home of the composer.

Lisa Leblanc Where: The Biltmore What: Anyone who describes their music as “folk trash” seems pretty cool to me.

Orchid Society Show and Sale

Orchid Society Show and Sale Where: VanDusen Garden What: Join the Vancouver Orchid Society for their spring sale. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

Marc Maron Where: The Vogue What: Maron is best known for his hit podcast WTF with Marc Maron, which continues to top the iTunes charts, averaging over 6 million downloads each month, with nearly 300 million total lifetime downloads. Following his historic interview with President Barack Obama last June, Marc has interviewed the likes of Lorne Michaels, Neil Young, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Jeff Goldblum, and Keith Richards.

Marianne Nicolson: Artist Talk and Book Launch  Where: Morris and Helen Belkin Art Gallery, UBC What: Nicolson will discuss her practice as it engages with Indigenous histories and politics, and relating oral traditions to methodologies of archival research.

We All Float Down Here: A Burlesque Tribute to Stephen King

We All Float Down Here: A Burlesque Tribute to Stephen King Where: The Rio What: Here’ is a burlesque, dance, and comedy show celebrating the oeuvre of Stephen King through a vaudeville lens, creating a world where the horror writer’s films collide in a Ziegfeld Follies-style explosion of glitter and showgirls.

Agnes Obel

Agnes Obel Where: The Imperial What: A Danish singer-songwriter with a classical approach.

Teenage Fanclub Where: The Rickshaw What: Rock music from Scotland.

  Sunday March 26

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Jazz Vespers Where: St. Andrew’s United Church What: Darlene Ketchum (vocals), Kelvin Ketchum (piano), Gerry Teichrob (bass), and Tyler Friesen (drums) perform a selection of classic soul, R&B, gospel, and jazz tunes as well as some originals.

Closing Event for Judy Chartrand: What a Wonderful World Where: Bill Reid Gallery What: Join artist Judy Chartrand for her special closing program for her exhibition: What a Wonderful World. Visitors will gain admission to the gallery, a copy of the official exhibition catalogue, an exclusive curatorial tour, light refreshments, and a chance to interact with the artist. This is the last chance to see this beautiful and provocative exhibit.

The Choir of King’s College, Cambridge

The Choir of King’s College, Cambridge Where: Chan Centre What: The Choir of King’s College, Cambridge, clad in their iconic red and white robes, has become one of the world’s most recognized all-male choral ensembles. Every Christmas Eve, over 30 million people across the globe tune in to listen to the ensemble perform the legendary “Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols” service. This event has been broadcast by the BBC since 1928 and has helped to make the choir a household name all over the globe. As a result, the ensemble now regularly tours all over the world, selling out performances wherever they go.

Mother Mother (show 2 of 3) Where: The Commodore Ballroom What:Vancouver-based electro alt-rock with songs like Bit By Bit and Monkey Tree.

Kitty Nights: Nerdgasm Where: The Biltmore What: Burlesque for the nerdy.

      Ongoing

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Vancouver International Dance Festival

Vancouver International Dance Festival (ends this weekend) Where: Various locations What: A broad spectrum of dance presentation ranging from the slow introspection of butoh to the dynamic precision of ballet. Runs until: Saturday March 25, 2017

Judy Chartrand, What a Wonderful World (ends this weekend) Where: The Bill Reid Gallery of Northwest Coast Art What: Her beautiful and provocative work presents her own personal history and insights into life in the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver, and commentary on racism and post–colonial relations between Indigenous and non–Indigenous cultures. Runs until: Saturday March 25, 2016

Playdome

Playdome (ends this weekend) Where: BC Place Stadium What: An indoor carnival with over 45 rides and attractions, as well as carnival snacks and games. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

Vancouver Gem and Mineral Show | Work by German Kabirski

Vancouver Gem and Mineral Show (this weekend only) Where: Playland What: Western Canada’s largest Gem show is featuring 80+ of the best gem, mineral and jewellery vendors from across Canada and abroad, bringing you unique gems, fine crystals, rare fossils, handmade jewellery, fancy beads and findings, lapidary art, lectures and demos, hourly door prizes and more. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

Family FUSE Weekend (this weekend only) Where: Vancouver Art Gallery What: Explore the galleries exhibitions through a diverse range of performances, in- gallery engagement, hands- on making activities and workshops with artists, dancers, musicians, performers and educators. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

East Side Flea (this weekend only) Where: 1024 Main St. What: Over 50 local vendors, food trucks, a live deejay, artisan showrooms, seasonal drink specials, pinball and more. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

Orchid Society Show and Sale

Orchid Society Show and Sale (this weekend only) Where: VanDusen Garden What: Join the Vancouver Orchid Society for their spring sale. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

Vancouver Fashion Week

Vancouver Fashion Week (ends this weekend) Where: Various locations What: Fashion shows and events all week by designers from Vancouver and from around the world. Runs until: Sunday March 26, 2017

Kedi

Kedi Where: VanCity Theatre What: My favorite quote of the film is, “If you can’t love animals, then I think you can’t really love people either.” In Istanbul, Turkey, self-reliant cats have lived freely since before the Ottoman Empire. Yet, their existence is deeply intertwined with the lives of their human counterparts, who see themselves as guardians, rather than owners, of their four-legged friends. This movie is about cats but it is also about humanity, and understanding the world through new eyes. Runs until: Thursday March 31, 2017

Kids Get in For Free Where: VanDusen Botanical Garden and Bloedel Conservatory What: Take advantage of up to two free child admissions with the purchase of a regular price adult, senior, or youth admission at VanDusen Garden or Bloedel Conservatory. Runs until: Friday March 31, 2017

I Am Not Your Negro

I Am Not Your Negro Where: VanCity Theatre What: A journey into black history that connects the past of the Civil Rights movement to the present of #BlackLivesMatter. It is a film that questions black representation in Hollywood and beyond. And, ultimately, by confronting the deeper connections between the lives and assassination of these three leaders, Baldwin and Peck have produced a work that challenges the very definition of what America stands for. Runs until: Friday March 31, 2017

Valley Song Where: Pacific Theatre What: Torn between the hope of the new South Africa and the familiarity of all he has known, Abraam “Buks” Jonkers tills land he will never own while his granddaughter dreams of the Johannesburg stage. A heartfelt story of tradition, change, and the resilience of the human spirit. Runs until: Saturday April 8, 2017

Layers of Influence

Layers of Influence Where: UBC Museum of Anthropology What: This stunning exhibition will explore clothing’s inherent evidence of human ingenuity, creativity and skill, drawing from MOA’s textile collection — the largest collection in Western Canada — to display a global range of materials, production techniques and adornments across different cultures and time frames. Runs until: Sunday April 9, 2017

The Daisy Theatre

The Daisy Theatre Where: The Cultch Historic Theatre What: Each performance will be different, daring, ridiculous, and on the edge of the hands of renowned puppeteer provocateur Ronnie Burkett and his resident company of over 40 marionettes. No two performances will be the same, making this a performance to see more than once. Runs until: Sunday April 9, 2017

Vancouver Special Where: Vancouver Art Gallery What: The first iteration of this series and it features works by 40 artists produced within the last five years—Vancouver’s post-Olympic period. The exhibition includes many emerging artists as well as those who are more established but whose ideas were prescient. Some are recent arrivals to Vancouver, while others are long-term residents who have already made significant contributions. Others are nomadic, less settled in one place and are working energetically between several locations. Runs until: Monday April 17, 2016

Nat Bailey Stadium Winter Farmers Market

Nat Bailey Stadium Winter Farmers Market Where: Nat Bailey Stadium What: Don’t fret the summers Farmers markets packing up – winter is here, and you can still shop local for fresh produce, preserves, baked goods, and crafts. Runs until: Saturday April 22, 2017

Angels in America Where: Arts Club Theatre What: A tale of companionship and abandonment that takes place when the personal became political. Set in New York City at the height of the Reagan era, Tony Kushner’s modern masterpiece contrasts the lives of five individuals struggling with identity issues alongside the crippling effects of stereotypes and an incurable diagnosis. Runs until: Sunday April 23, 2017

Hastings Park Farmers Market

Hastings Park Farmers Market Where: Hastings Park (near the PNE) What: The Hastings Park Farmers Market features a great selection of local produce; nursery items, fish, meat & dairy; artisan prepared foods, baking and treats; local crafts, and of course, food trucks. Runs until: Sunday April 30, 2017

Susan Point: Spindle Whorl

Susan Point: Spindle Whorl Where: Vancouver Art Gallery What: Since the early 1980s, Susan Point has received wide acclaim for her remarkably accomplished oeuvre that forcefully asserts the vitality of Coast Salish culture, both past and present. She has produced an extensive body of prints and an expansive corpus of sculptural work in a wide variety of materials that includes glass, resin, concrete, steel, wood and paper. Runs until: Sunday May 28, 2017

Pacific Crossings: Hong Kong Artists in Vancouver | Sunset, Carrie Koo

Pacific Crossings: Hong Kong Artists in Vancouver Where: Vancouver Art Gallery What: June 2017 marks the 20-year anniversary of the transfer of Hong Kong sovereignty from the United Kingdom to mainland China. In the lead up to the handover, tens of thousands of Hong Kong residents immigrated to Canada, many choosing to settle in Vancouver, and among them were a significant number of artists. Pacific Crossings presents works from well-known Hong Kong artists created after their relocation to Vancouver throughout the 1960-90s. Runs until: May 28, 2017

Retainers of Anarchy

Retainers of Anarchy Where: Vancouver Art Gallery What: A solo exhibition featuring new work from Howie Tsui that considers wuxia, a traditional form of martial arts literature, as a narrative tool for dissidence and resistance. Runs until: May 28, 2017

The Lost Fleet Exhibit Where: Vancouver Maritime Museum What: On December 7, 1941 the world was shocked when Japan bombed Pearl Harbour, launching the United States into the war. This action also resulted in the confiscation of nearly 1,200 Japanese-Canadian owned fishing boats by Canadian officials on the British Columbia coast, which were eventually sold off to canneries and other non-Japanese fishermen. The Lost Fleet looks at the world of the Japanese-Canadian fishermen in BC and how deep-seated racism played a major role in the seizure, and sale, of Japanese-Canadian property and the internment of an entire people. Runs until: Winter 2017

Amazonia: The Rights of Nature

Amazonia: The Rights of Nature Where: UBC Museum of Anthropology What: MOA will showcase its Amazonian collections in a significant exploration of socially and environmentally-conscious notions intrinsic to indigenous South American cultures, which have recently become innovations in International Law. These are foundational to the notions of Rights of Nature, and they have been consolidating in the nine countries that share responsibilities over the Amazonian basin. Runs until: January 28, 2018

What are you up to this weekend? Tell me and the rest of Vancouver in the comments below or tweet me directly at @lextacular

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