#peter nureyev and the city of dreams

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Kay, Zeph- bouncing up and down banging on the walls of my enclosure.

Peter cannot go back to his dream of New Kinshasa or Brahma and Juno can't go back to his dream of Hyperion City, the places wouldn't remember them, they wouldn't remember the place, a dream is just a dream and its okay that we dreamed it-!!!

Nureyev would have such a tough time adjusting to a stationary life, he wouldn't be able to! And Juno got to galavant across the galaxy but remember Puck! Remember why he agreed to help go after the CMP? Juno likes getting to help people. Protecting and helping, it's what he thinks he was made for!! And I think I lost my point...

@ceaseless-watchers-special-girl made a great addition to this post too: we don't know how much time we have left this season and we don't know who Peter will be without this constant crushing weight on him anymore. Smth smth, throw back to S1 "So who is Peter Nureyev?" blah blah "He makes me feel a lot of things. And I make him feel a lot too." Maybe we'll get a throwback to that Juno line.

Personally I am all in favor of Kabert leaving it open ended. Leave it to their fanbase to draw our own conclusions and epilogues. I am also in favor however for a final good bye. One last farewell to Slip Jackson and the Dream and Mag and New Kinshasa and Brahma and the GAS and Hyperion City and all the things we've left behind.

ooooh but the way they're setting up for a coming home arc tho.

I mean I'm a little conflicted bc having them Get Out of Hyperion City was such a triumph and even though they've technically been running around the galaxy since S3 the actual running around the galaxy bits felt a little sporadic. and I was really here for the parts where Juno was like 'hey you can miss something without actually wanting it back.' obv the whole 'Always Running Never Looking Back' thing was untenable from day one, but this whole time I haven't been ready to go back to Hyperion City. (for a minute there between WLB1 and Clean Break I'd had my heart set on the three of them following Jet around in the Ruby bc home isn't a place and there are endless menacing institutions to fuck up while in the company of the people you love.)

Going Back isn't necessarily what I hoped for but I'm seeing how that might turn out to be the logical conclusion and it is with gruDgiNG aCcepTAnce that I can see that being the most appropriate narrative choice given how much Home has been a theme this whole goddamn show. I gotta think they're toying with something interesting in the vein of Returning Changed, getting a full-circle parallel to FRP, also curious for a callback or more thoughts on Juno's Andromeda motif. like. can he Go Home? in a way that it's the Right Call? what does it mean if he Can? who's he gonna be if he Does?

and then there's our Thief Without A Home. i mean. I'm also not particularly interested in a 'settling down ever after' type narrative for them bc of who they are as people (they Need Shenanigans your honor). but. i mean they could still go pick fights with cyber-mobsters in Newtown. I could see it working if there's a focus on the idea of belonging and not just falling back on the usual model of domesticity. also i have already pictured This Conversation.

Juno: (scared shitless about the idea that this might be a dealbreaker after Everything) look before we get ahead of ourselves or anything. now that you're out from under their thumbs i need you to know I can't do the whole. running around the galaxy thing. like I should have told you the first time around. I can't actually do that forever and I'm not gonna ask you to stop if that's what you see yourself doing from here on out.

Nureyev (scared shitless that Juno's breaking up with him Now, After Everything): you don't. you don't mean you -

Juno: Rita and I want to go back to Hyperion City. not sure what we're doing yet, but I miss it and she misses Frannie and we're both ready to go home.

Nureyev:

Juno: and. there could be a place for you there too. if you wan-

Nureyev (has already thrown himself to the floor and flung his arms around Juno's knees): oh thank fuck please take me home with you i have been running for twenty years i am so tired

Juno (voice breaks): you're getting your own room to keep your stuff in and you can't hoard all the drinking glasses

[unmechanism]

I can't stop thinking about how painful it must have been for Peter (which he'll only realize once he has consciously accepted everything that has happened, so I'm guessing in a while) to seduce Horace : the man who lost his love and never fully healed, who was craving love so deeply but buried it and kept functioning fine with only his late husband's memory, doing what he had to do to keep the family business afloat

working because he had to, for his family, day after day,

to not only lie to him, but slowly reopening his wounds, betraying him in a way he'll surely never recover from

"Part of me knew it was too good to be true. But after so long... so many years of such terrible weight on me... the dream of running away from it all seemed so sweet. I had to reach for it. Any of you would have done the same. I know you would. He said he loved me, and it was like a dream... a long sleep I let him lull me into."

it's interesting that this does not exactly parallel Juno (sure he was in Horace's position, but his dream has never actually been to leave it all behind - I believe this is especially true since we've heard how bad he misses his city this episode), cause this is not only Horace's dream, it's Peter's too, only not with him,

sure Horace obviously parallels Juno, but I believe he also parallels Peter in some ways : stuck in some unsatisfying yet unwavering ways, still going on, finding hope and meaning where he can in the name of someone who isn't even there anymore to see or understand it,

when suddenly he's blinded by the hope of a better future, of love and something better in the shape of an unexpected encounter, a proper life for himself that would let him make peace with the love he lost (reminds you of anyone?)

so yeah, I'm sure he tried very hard to not see that when he made that guy give it all up for a mirage,

it's also important to me that Horace is older, if he's the grandfather of a grown kid I guess he's probably in his late 60's? it would've been quite a different situation if Nureyev decided to seduce someone younger who still had hopes for the future, who didn't think that the best of his life was behind him, it's cruel and unlike anything we've seen of Peter until now (which definitely makes sense in context, I'm not truly blaming him for what he did)

cause the main difference between Horace and Nureyev is that he still has a chance, no matter how ridiculously small it is, at doing what he believes is right,

[merxxki]

‘ manny jacinto, cisgender man, he/him, 36 / 360 , high fae ’ ― cauldron save you. it seems soro ven has finally made it to the capital, the spymaster from dawn court is said to be whimsical and is said to describe themselves with a mender of souls with a voice lilt with humor and song, a whisperer of dreams weaving tales, and a fox' trickster nature cloaked cruelty masked as kindness and false promises and with all of this in mind their isolationist nature always seems to get them into trouble. may the mother hold them as they navigate this unthinkable time.

general details.

full name:  soro ven name meaning: soro - fox... ven no known meaning. age:  36/360 gender: cisgender man pronouns: he/him sexual orientation: pansexual romantic orientation: panromantic occupation:  spy master, dawn court education level:  only completed what he was forced to complete extracurricular: engaging in trivial things, random community events, suppers, engagements... he is hardly ever alone, either during the day or at night.

physical appearance, etc.

faceclaim:  manny jacinto height: 5'11 distinguishing characteristics: sharp cheekbones, a quick and easy laugh, signature scent:  a blend of oakmoss, sandalwood, jasmine, smoky incense, fresh bergamot

health.

mental disorder(s): avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder physical disorder(s):  chronic pain syndrome, chronic migraines, insomnia sleeping habits:  poor - he works until he passes out eating habits: when he remembers sociability: strong, he's extroverted and if there is something going on, he is among others.

personality.

character tropes: the thief with a heart of gold, the femme fatale, the bard from D&D character inspiration: robin hood, peter nureyev (penumbra podcast), puck goodfellow, leliana (dragon age). positive traits:  resilient, adaptable, creative, secretive, gentle, humorous negative traits: flighty, impulsive, cynical, insensitive, fool-hardy likes:  card games, gambling, storytelling, performing, botany, dislikes:  being interrupted, being alone, loud storms, rainy days that go on for too long fears:  fire, crawling insects habits: eavesdropping, nighttime walks hobbies: art and calligraphy, knitting, book binding

family, relationships, etc.

mother: unknown father:  unknown significant other: tbd best friend: tbd sibling(s):  unknown pet(s): blackfox named quill

head canons and/or backstory.

triggers: mentions of - child death, afrid (eating disorder) Soro Ven was born into poverty in a crowded port city. Abandoned as a baby, he was taken in by an orphanage who was always stressed thin, never enough food - never good food. Never healthy food. He and the other children would dig up worms and grubs. There was a time when more children passed away than were adopted. The only reason he survived was due to a traveling group of street performers and entertainers called the Red Lion Traveling Troupe who eked out a living on the crowded streets. He Soro grew up with a found family of fellow orphans and misfits, learning to survive through wit, charm, and quick reflexes... though in the beginning, he didn't have very quick reflexes. he continued to struggle to eat food he wasn't used to. any food that wasn't (and isn't) prepared by someone he trusts is ultimately uneaten.

From a young age, Soro displayed a natural talent for storytelling and music, often using his skills to entertain crowds and earn a few coins to help his little family. His performances were a blend of captivating tales and clever improvisation, drawing inspiration from the diverse cultures and folklore of the area they were traveling through.

As soro matured, he witnessed firsthand the stark divide between the wealthy elite and the impoverished masses, he was determined to use his talents not just for entertainment, but also to gather information. he is loyal to the high lord -- to a point, he cannot forget where he came from, and he has to make the nobility understand.

soro's transformation from entertainer to spymaster began when he caught the attention of the new retired spymaster who recognized his potential. Under the mentorship of this mysterious figure, Soro honed his skills in espionage, learning the art of gathering information, disguise, and manipulation from the shadows.

soro delved into the secrets and mysteries of the capital, particularly any underground networks. he formed a private guild, focusing on travelers and those with ... less than savory backgrounds.

today, soro operates as the elusive spymaster of the dawn court, known for his ability to navigate the city's intricate web of alliances and rivalries, as well as his healing prowess and dream manipulation. He uses his bardic charm and storytelling skills to gather information and sway opinions, often disguising his true motives behind a facade of joviality and wit.

soro's network of informants spans every corner of the capital, from the darkest alleys to the grandest estates. He maintains a careful balance of power, playing factions against each other while ensuring that his allegiance lies with the people of the streets, the smallfolk.

he is a bardic storyteller and a master manipulator of secrets, navigating the complexities of loyalty, honor, and personal redemption... though why he's working towards redemption ... he won't say.

headcanons.

– he is heavily based on guards! guards! by terry pratchett (and many other terry pratchett discworld books)

- he is chaotic neutral, he aligns with this court and particularly the family due to his faith in them. if that were to be betrayed -- he doesn't know what he'd do.

ongoing tag here: [ xxx ] playlist: spotify

wanted connections.

the best friend, the soulmate, a sibling, "like a sibling", ride-or-die, the greatest regret, shadow allies, associates, the juno to his peter

[ceaseless-watchers-special-girl]

fuck, jay. fuck. this is exactly what i needed oh my god. read this when i woke up. reread it just now to comment on it. will be rereading as often as i can for the foreseeable future.

"at least one person believes he built the hanataba clinic" MMMMM. SCREAMING. LEGENDS BLURRING TOGETHER ASGHUOFAWSLJBD

"lined up shoulder to shoulder, and killed in the dead of night." this is awful. new kinshasa is awful. "there are whispers that the Solar Planets call it a war crime" EXACTLY!!! EXACTLY IT'S AWFUL BUT NONE OF THE SOLAR PLANETS WILL DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. THEY'LL STAND AND WATCH AS BRAHMA GOES DOWN IN FLAMES AND PAT THEMSELVES ON THE BACK FOR THEIR DISAPPROVAL, BUT THEY WON'T ACT AGAINST IT.

"we soared with him, we rallied in the streets, we rioted for days, we starved ourselves in protest. And we waited. And waited. And waited. And he never came back." ohhhhhh my god. i am obsessed with this idea. obsessed with the idea that it wasn't just nureyev and mag, that they all spread the word, that they were all right behind them and waiting for new kinshasa to fall.

and the comparison to the mother weaved throughout the story. the comparison to people who were killed by the lasers, who they say "vanished" because they can't bear to say she was killed when she didn't deserve to be.

peter nureyev "vanished" too, but he wasn't killed, because surely new kinshasa would've announced it if he was? they wouldn't just let them go on hoping. but they choose to believe peter nureyev is alive. and by choosing to believe it, they keep him alive. because peter nureyev might have been a person, once, but now he's so much more than that. he is the hope of the oppressed, and his story belongs to the people now. so long as people believe, he cannot die.

also can i just— your tags oh my god??? delicious story idea??? i didn't even think about the possibility of someone finding the legend of peter nureyev and digging to find out who he was, if he's still out there. oc's would be delicious but consider.

(ok so i lowkey speedwrote the synopsis for a whole fic under the cut?? it's longer than i intended lmaooo)

au where juno is a journalist. when he was young he dreamed of finally being allowed to be unashamedly curious, asking questions about anything and everything and letting everyone know about his findings. he thought he could uncover the biggest mysteries, the worst conspiracies, and expose them all and make the world a slightly better place.

when he got a job at a big news company, he thought that was it. he'd stay here forever, slowly work his way up, and he'd do what he always wanted to do. but then they started pushing him for sensationalism, they wanted his stories to be bigger, more dramatic, less political. well, they were political, but not in the way juno had expected.

he couldn't keep doing this. he couldn't keep pushing story after story out to make the mayor look better, to make the kanagawas look innocent, to make it seem like the worst-off in the city were scum, like they were at fault. like his people were at fault.

so, he left. it took him a while to get things rolling again; no one ever said quitting a job was easy. he started sending stories — real ones, true ones, that he'd researched himself and that he was sure were going to make mars a better place — to any company who would take submissions. and he did what he could, but it wasn't enough. he wasn't changing anything.

now, he's getting sick of mars. he's sick of the tyrants that rule it and step on the people underneath them just to make themselves a little taller. is everywhere like this? he doesn't know, he's never left mars. now, there's an idea.

so juno up and leaves mars, travelling the galaxy to see what the rest of the galaxy holds. something in his gut tells him he's abandoning mars, that he can't just leave everyone back there, but he needs a break from that stupid planet before it does his head in.

he travels all the way to the outer rim, and he feels like he's stepped into another universe. he doesn't recognise any of the materials the buildings are made of, none of the food looks appealing. he relishes the difference.

he hears stories about what happens on brahma, about why no one ever travels there — apparently it's not exactly a honeymoon location.

what's the surest way to get juno steel to come over? a death threat.

he goes to brahma to find out what the hell is going on, and it's so much worse than he could have imagined. laser fire rains down from the sky so loud it shakes the ground, and juno is sure he's been struck with every bolt. the constables at the gate assure him the lasers won't harm him so long as he doesn't do anything wrong, but juno's not sure what they define as "wrong" here.

in the rubble of a home torn apart by lasers long ago, dried blood and shattered graffiti in the rubble, he finds a cracked comms. he wonders if it contains any trace of the person who lived here, and he turns it on.

a recording starts playing, broken and crackling through the speakers. a man's voice tells him the story, the myth, the legend of peter nureyev. the story ends, and juno sits down in the rubble, wondering who this angel was. he sits in silence for a few seconds, and the comms moves on to the next recording.

it's a song, hauntingly beautiful, sung by the same man who told him the story. at the song's core is an interweaving of the fierce chant of a protest and the soft rebellion of the lullaby with which juno used to sing ben to sleep. it's beautiful.

halfway through the recording, a child's voice joins in, ever so slightly out of tune, and the man breathes a soft laugh as the fingers playing the guitar stutter. the two of them sing together, and the child's voice fades into a murmur by the end. when the recording ends, juno feels wetness on his cheeks.

who is peter nureyev? juno doesn't know. but he does know that he can't stand for what's happening here, and if he has any shot at fighting it, he's going to need to find this angel.

put this in the pcc but you guys can have it too:

can't catch me now by olivia rodrigo really gives nureyev making his threat to the constables on new kinshasa, and the legend of the angel of brahma being whispered throughout the planet below

just. this song is making me dream of him and juno and the whole fam going back to new kinshasa and finding a way to free the citizens of brahma. i know they can't just take the reactor and i know that nureyev can't do it on his own and i know it's not their job to fix everything. but the people of brahma deserve to know their angel is real.

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 6/7 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Poisoning, blaster shot,... Summary:

Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev make a good team. But when a bank job goes horribly wrong, the injured pair are forced to lay low and hope the Carte Blanche can make it back to them in time.

Note: Bold Italic Writing signifies Nureyev speaking Brhamese 

Chapter 6: 

The dim light of the safe house shined supernaturally bright after the darkness outside.  The planetoid revolved slowly, so it would be another day or so before they found themselves back in the sun’s rays.  

Hopefully they would be gone by that time.

Nureyev blinked against the brightness, realizing he cracked a lens during the excursion.  At the moment he was too tired to care.  The Carte Blanch held a spare set or two dozen for just such an occasion.  

No, the only thing he had room to think about was Juno.

Juno, his goddess, was still sleeping on the couch.  Still in the same recovery position that Nureyev had left him in.  

"It's been a- a while - Juno-" he said to the still form.  Juno didn’t stir.  Nureyev hadn’t expected him to.  

All the same, the Thief stumbled over to the Detective and plopped down on the makeshift coffee table.  If he was being honest with himself, and he rarely was, there was something comforting about being this close to his partner again.  

Juno's chest rose and fell with a frantic rhythm and his eye danced under the lid.  Nureyev frowned.  Whatever dream he seemed to be having, it didn’t look to be a good one.  

Nureyev contemplated the wisdom of waking Juno.  If this was their room on the Carte Blanche, he’d have done it already, chasing away the nightmares that plagued him.  He paused, halfway to the pulse point at the lady’s throat.  

The pepper bomb residue still tingled on his skin, it probably wouldn't hurt Juno, goodness knows he was a tough lady- but all the same it would be best to wash up beforehand.

Rita had agreed to message him if she noticed guards near the safe house.  Judging by the live feed she’d sent, the security was still in a frenzy over Nureyev’s earlier theatrics.  That was something, at least.  

He sighed, wilting over his knees.  He should call Vespa.  He should report to the Captain.  He should be securing the safe house.  He should be doing anything other than watching the little dots on the comms screen buzz about his last known location.  

It was some time before Nureyev felt ready to stand again.

The smoke had worked its way into everything.  His hair, skin, clothes, makeup, everything.  This was promising to be a production.

Carefully he shrugged off his coat and set to work in the sink.  A quick glance at the mirror told him what he already knew.  Gone were the knife sharp cat eyes and the carefully contoured cheeks.  Now the coverage was patchy at best and gore splattered at worst.  Nureyev scoured down the grime on his hands and aggressively attacked the makeup streaks.  The water wasn’t working fast enough, each plunge setting him to ache afresh.  Under him, his leg was trembling, threatening to give out at any moment.  

There was nothing for it, he’d just have to shower the stuff off.   It wasn’t like he ever dried off from the earlier river dip anyways.  With an impatient puff of air, he sat himself on the toilet and stripped off boots, socks, corset and shirt.  All of these items have been protected from the worst of the fumes by the long coat.  Not so his trousers.  

At first the icy water activated the chemical residue afresh.  He scrubbed his skin raw with a bar of upscale hotel soap.  Well, the hotel it came from may have been upscale, but the soap itself was as mediocre as any other hotel soap.  He glared at it as though it was it’s fault he was in this mess.  Fresh scrapes and bruises blossomed across his chest and arms.  

The water ran off in muddy brown and rusted red, gradually fading sudsy clear as blood stains and dirt alike were rinsed away.  

Shaking with effort, Nureyev slid down onto the shower stool.  In his impatience, he’d forgotten about the bandage.  

First rule of thieving, Nureyev chastised himself, if you want to stay alive, keep a level head.

Numb fingers struggled with the bandage fastenings.  It was harder to remove the wrappings than it had been to apply them.  He expanded the tear in the leg seam to gain better access, exposing the burn beneath.  The sight churned his stomach, which was something.  He’d never considered himself squeamish.  There was something unsettling about seeing your own flesh distorted in such a fashion….

The angry red of the burn was expected, unpleasant, but expected.  But wasn’t prepared for the purple tinged veins webbing out from the injury or how tight the skin was stretched about it.  

File it away- just file it away.

As soon  as he was out of the shower and re-clothed; Nureyev decided to take Vespa’s advice and down a glass of water.  It repeated on him just as quick and he was left bowed over the sink, coughing and sputtering while his stomach roiled.  His knuckles turned to white over the porcelain as he waited for the nausea to die down.  

Face bare and hair free of product, he could plainly see the high flush on his cheeks and bruised circles under his eyes.  “Oh what are you looking at?” he rasped at his haggard reflection.   He should have known better, did know better.  He’d had enough experience to know when he could and couldn’t keep something down.  

That horrid chill bit deeper into his bones, conspiring with the fire of the injury to make him thoroughly miserable.  

This wasn’t right, he knew.  This wasn’t supposed to be how a blaster shot felt- fresh or no.  Goodness knows he’s had enough of them.  And the purpling veins were down right... unpleasant.

Nureyev sighed, bringing out two glasses of water and a clean cloth ripped in two.

“Juno, love.” Nureyev coaxed, all but collapsing on the tiny coffee table.  He could do this while he slept, but much rather the lady be awake to take his fluids.  “Love-” he coaxed, running his fingers through his curls like he'd wanted to ever since his return.  He was rewarded with a gentle moan and Juno pressing into his hand.  

“Love- You have to drink for me-”

“Don’ feel good.” his voice was so weak, Nureyev tried not to think about what that could mean.  

“I know-” he said, dipping the cloth in the water and bringing it to Juno’s lips, “J-Just take the water from that.”  

Juno pulled away from the cold, hand wrapping around Nureyev’s wrist.  “Naugh’ a child-”

Nureyev chuckled fondly “Drink, or Vespa will have both our heads.”

“Vespa?”

“I d-dare say she isn't too…. pleased at the moment.”

“Wha else ‘s new?” Juno commented, but took the cloth from Nureyev.  He was tentative at first but really started to pull on it, dipping messily back in the cup for more.  

“Slow, if you d-don’t want it repeating on you.” Juno hummed in affirmation.  That would have to do.  

Nureyev took a hit off his own cloth and turned his attention to the injury.  Though the surrounding skin had dried by now, the burn itself was swollen and oozing a clear fluid.  This close and the discoloration to the veins was easy to see.  He didn’t need Vespa to tell him that it had been contaminated.  Didn’t need her to explain that the speed at which the inflammation was spreading was concerning.  Didn’t need her to tell him there was nothing that could be done about it till he returned to the ship.  

File it away.

“Hh-hell, ‘Reyev-” He jumped, twisting to see Juno staring.  His eye was wide, glassy and his parlor was more ashen than before.  

“Lay back love.” Nureyev soothed, gently pushing Juno back.  The Detective collapsed under his gentle touch with a little strangled sound.  “D-don’t look.”  He hadn’t meant for him to see.  The thought of moving to another room, of having to stand another minute, made him sick.  Still, he should have tried harder to spare Juno.  

“It’s- bad-” as distorted as his words were, Nureyev could tell it was a statement, not a question.  

“Nothing that c-can’t be managed.” he shivered.  He almost believed it.  “Have some more water- i-if you can.”  

Nureyev tried to work quickly, using what little remained of the smuggler’s first aid kit to clean the wound and apply burn ointment.  The task was made difficult by clumsy cold hands.  The exercise may prove pointless, but at least nothing else was likely to add to the contamination.  

He should make a report to Buddy, maybe even get some answers as to what was going on with the Carte Blanche.  

Nureyev pursed his lips looking at the comms.  His mind was fuzzy at the edges, from fatigue and stress.  A call with someone who could see through so much of his cover on a good day, was daunting.  

And yet….

“Captain Auranko.” his usual smooth voice was rough and unwieldy.  "I believe it is t-time for a r-report."

"Pete, darling you sound dreadful." Nureyev couldn't tell if she was disappointed or concerned.  Perhaps both.  

"Yes well, a l-lot has... transported."

"Transpired?"

"Quite." He coughed.  "We have e-encountered several….troubles.  The b-box is fine but they are a-aware we are still within the c-city."

"Yes, I've heard something of your predicament Pete.  I assure you we are doing everything we can to collect you."

"When , Captain." He coughed harder, "we are r-running out of the…" he couldn't remember the right word " time- "

There was a pause, voices in the back, urgent and cutting.  He'd lose her- he’d lose her before he’d a chance to get answers, to get help.

"P-please, Captain-"

She sighed, "I'll be frank with you Pete.   Listen closely because we don't have time for questions."

The thief cleared his throat "Of course-"

"Planetoid Xnon is owned by Galactic Stars First Bank.  The entire place is on lockdown after our stunt." There was a strange sound like crunching metal  and Buddy gave a sharp intake of breath.  Shouting something to the Carte Blanche team.  

"They know t-the Carte Blanche is there."  Nureyev commented.  He didn't have to be a detective to put that together.

"Quite."

"Ah." The complicated note of emotion welled up within, there wouldn't be a rescue, they wouldn't be able to get close.  The bank would get them in the end and there would be nothing he could do about it.  Nureyev felt the knot in his throat before he had a chance to file it away.  "S-so we are to be… left b-behind."  Made to follow their pirates deal.  

"And leave two injured crew to fend for themselves against an overgrown bully?  I think not, dear.  Jet and Rita have been coordinating their efforts, we will beat them yet."

"Captain-"

"There is no need to be such a negative man Pete.  We will get back to you.  These bank executives made the mistake of coveting two things that are mine, my crew and my information.  I'm not in the mood for sharing."

Nureyev let out a strangled sort of laugh that was far from his usual chuckle.

"I will transfer you to Vespa, keep us in the loop darling."

"No need f-for the transfer.  T-tell her things are much the s-same on our end.  We will await the next contact."

"Very well, I'll defer to your judgement then Pete.  Buddy out."

Nureyev sagged at the call end.  He'd the distinct feeling like Buddy was withholding something from them.  He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad that ng, so he filed that away for future consideration.

"They kknow 'bout tha ship?"  Juno inquired in the lull.

"It would seem s-so." Nureyev said.  He had no intention of lying to Juno, even in a state like this.

"J-Jet and Rita are on it though."

"Rita-" Juno gave a snort, "almos' feel bad- for-” he gasped “'em- ah-"  His face twisted and he curled tighter on himself.  

“L-love, you should- reset.” he said, scooting himself over so that he was within reach of Juno.  

“You’re ss-switchin’ words- Reyev-” he was looking up at him with that glassy eye.  

“What?”  

“Switching- words-” Juno tried again.  “You’ve been- doin’ it a lot-”

Then it clicked.

“I-" he floundered, " Oh my.  I hadn’t realized-” and he hadn’t.  But now that he was actually thinking about it, he’d been doing it for a while.  His hand drifted up to his traitorous lips.  That was definitely a hit to his professional pride.  It had been a long time since he'd slipped like this; would that only get more common as he got older?  Or....

File it away-

"You're- tired- too-" Juno added, reaching out to put his hand on Nureyev's knee.  It seemed to be meant as a squeeze, but his fingers couldn't quite manage.  He'd likely be unable to work a blaster in this state.

He was defenseless.

Just file it all away-

"It's- alright." Nureyev shrugged delicately.

"No- it's s'not."

Nureyev hummed, wrapping his fingers about Juno's wrist, feeling the pulse point fast and light.  In truth, he would be alright as long as Juno's heart kept beating.

After Juno drifted off once more, Nureyev took to securing the safe house again.  Moving around more than was wise judging by the dizzy spells.  

One eye was on the guard locator Rita sent, another kept on his love.  

Two hours passed, Vespa called, Juno was examined again.  His heart rate was inching up but otherwise, he was much the same.  She didn't know when they'd return.  Nureyev's eyelids itched to close.  He could not rest yet.

He refused.  

To keep awake, he attempted a few mobility exercises.  A near collapse on the second set led him to abandon the attempt.  The movements weren’t hard, per say, but they were deceptively taxing.  One that left him shaking and gasping on the ground.  Forgetting that was a stupid, foolish mistake.  Nureyev was slipping.

The buzzing of an incoming call forced him back to reality.  He’d been dangerously close to nodding off again, lulled into stillness by the mirriorid aches and pains that plagued him.  It was Vespa, goodness, had it really been two hours?  

Her tone held none of it’s usual bite.  If Nureyev didn’t know better, he’d call it concern.   Juno was much the same, fast asleep, curled on his side, face pinched in pain.  Nureyev longed to kiss it away.  As if he was of any use to the Detective now.  

________________________

He patrolled the safehouse again, pausing in front of the crates. They easily outnumbered the pair.  The more Nureyev considered them, the more ominous he found their hidden insides to be.  What if they had listening devices inside?  Cameras?  Drones?  It could also be completely innocuous-

It was reminding him of the old earth thought experiment.  There was a cat in a box, and you didn’t know if the cat was alive or dead until you opened that box.  Until you did, both possibilities remained true at once.  He thought that old earthlings must have been very cruel or cowardly to trap such a creature in the first place and not check on it’s welfare.  In his current state, he related very much to the cat.  

Were the contents of the crate dangerous?  Or harmless?  There was only one way to find out.  

Nureyev pulled up a smaller box for a seat and set a plasma cutter to the side.  Slicing through the synth wood till it hung loose from the hinge left against the floor.  He glanced over at Juno and pulled.  

Tiny vials cascaded from the packing fungus.  Nureyev jumped, jarring his leg and hissing.  It was a far cry from what he’d been expecting.  Cautiously, he reached in and scooped up a tiny glass bottle bearing the legend ‘ Saffron Pharmaceuticals, Venucian SARS-97 Vaccine ’  

He grabbed another squinting at the label ‘ Saffron Pharmaceuticals, Venucian SARS-97 Vaccine ’

A brief investigation revealed the entire crate contained the long expired vaccines.  Nureyev stood, dizzied by the sudden motion and moved to the next crate.  This too contained medical devices, two ventilators and their accompanied equipment.  Another crate contained bandages and antiseptic.  Another filled with tiny computerized vital monitors.  Still another was cramped with some sort of scanning tech.  Crate after crate contained specialized medical supplies.  

Nureyev’s chest constricted, wherever these had intended to go, they were meant to save people on the Outer Rim.  Not be left to rot in a forgotten smuggler den.  

Out of morbid curiosity, he snagged a few of the vials for future consideration.  Then sent a picture of the medical equipment to Vespa with a caption “Would these items still be of use?”

There would have been many people on Brahma alone that would have benefited from such equipment.  It was near impossible to get on the war torn Outer Rim.  Frustration bubbled out from some locked file.  In his fatigued state, it was near impossible to hold it back.  

Just then, the Detective stirred.  The file snapped shut and Nureyev hobbled back to his love.  

Something seemed to have changed, even through the brain fog, it was plain to see.

“J-Juno?” Nureyev asked.  

Juno let out a low pained groan, fingers twisting into his stomach. “ ‘Reyev- ” he gasped, his chest stuttering.  “ Nu-reyev- ” he was struggling as if trying to force himself upright.  

“What’s ha-happening love-”

“Hu- hur’s -” he keened.  Nureyev’s blood ran cold, his hands fluttering over the lady.  Unsure whether he should push him back down or help him up.  

“Hurts?  Juno- w-what hurts?”

Juno swayed on his elbow, eye screwed shut.  

“ Love ?”

He looked as though he was going to be sick.  Nureyev pushed a bin under him just in time for him to wretch.  His whole body shook from the force of it, he was left gasping from the strain before it hit him again.  A curdled mass of red splattered against the bottom of the bin.  

Blood

Juno was bleeding on the inside.

Nureyev didn’t wait for him to finish, he called Vespa barely able to keep the panic down.  

“I’m kind of busy thief, if this is about the equi-”

“Juno’s Bleeding !” Nureyev choked out.  

“Whut?”

“Please Vespa- Juno- Juno is-” he groped for the right phrase, “How do you say- internal bleeding-'' the Brahmese slipped out of his mouth before he could think to stop it.  Juno heaved again, dissolving into dry heaves.  Nureyev wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.  “Sick on blood.” he managed at long last.  

“Wait, you're telling me he’s vomiting blood?”

“Yes.”

She swore.

“How d-do I stop it?”

“Ransom-” she sounded tired.  Almost defeated.  He couldn't understand.  There had to be something he could do, anything that he could do.

“Please- I-” he was hyperventilating now, getting dizzy from it.  Juno was shaking in his spare arm, just keeping himself from toppling over.  He couldn't lose him, not like this. “Please-” his voice broke.  

“Whoa, hey!  First Ransom, I’m going to need you to breathe for me!  Sheish!”  He tried, grounding himself with the heat radiating from Juno.  “Okay look, I can’t promise anything right now, but gonna need you to turn on the video feed, I need to see what’s going on.” He did.  

As before he followed her instructions.  Juno seemed to collapse in on himself, curling around his core.  

“Here’s the story Ransom.” Nureyev perked up, trying with all his might to focus on Vespa’s voice.  “He’s in bad shape.” he snorted, he knew that.  “But judging by the color and texture of the blood, it's a slow bleed.  We have the time to get to you.”

“S-so, I am to w-sit in idle the entire time?”

“Your Job, Thief, is the same as before!” she snapped, sounding more like her usual self.  “His heart and brain need blood circulation to elevate his feet.” Nureyev got a box to prop Juno’s feet on and carefully turned him onto his back.  Juno whined at the motion and Vespa swore loudly “Not on his back Thief!  Damn it!  Want him to choke if he ralfs again?!  Keep him on his side, the recovery position.”  Nureyev could kick himself as he hurried to comply, Juno made another piteous sound that tugged at his heart.  “No, it’s not comfortable, but it will improve his chances of survival.”

It was harder than it should have been to move Juno, he was panting by the end, the world swirling “What n-now?”

“If he can keep it down, get water into him.  Mostly just keep him alive until we get there.”

“When will that be- ” he was frustrated, tired.  He wanted answers.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to massage out the headache that had taken residence in his temples.  

“I don’t know what you are playing at Ransom, but I don’t speak Brahmese!”

“Wha- I-” he swallowed, he’d done it again.  Maybe if he just ignored it- “W-when are you coming?”

“Look, we’ll keep you apprised.  And goddamnit, do something about that chill.  I can’t deal with you keeling over on us.  Talk to you next check in.” and she hung up.

He just had to wait it out.

He could do that.  A shiver passed down his spine, clothes scraping over hypersensitive skin.  

He could wait.

________________

It was getting- hard- to concentrate.  Nureyev couldn't patrol the safe house anymore, could scarcely move.  So instead, he was saving what was left of his strength for what was to come.  Whatever that may be.  

The fatigue was crushing and still he kept his eyes open.  He would not leave Juno, not if there was anything he could do about it.  

He squeezed the handle of the blade, the sharp edges of the bare handle digging into his palm.  Over and over he squeezed until it hurt, and backed off, lulling himself into a half hypnotic state.  So long as he could squeeze, he could feel the pain, so long as he felt the pain, he could stay awake.  

It was different from the consuming burn in his leg, the unruly, hungry sort of agony that was far beyond his control.  Far beyond anything he could file away.

The squeezing distracted from it, in a small way.  Any relief was welcome.  

Nureyev bowed over his knees, eyes trained on the comms screen and the blurry dots migrating over the surface of the map.  Squeezing the handle.  Paying no attention to the moisture working it’s way down his wrist.  

It had been- hours- since they last heard from the Carte Blanche.  Hours since he heard a peep out of Juno-  The only way the thief could be sure Juno was alive was the heat rolling off his skin.  

They’ve been abandoned.  

He was sure.

Buddy Auranko had promised that the Carte Blanche would be more than a team, that it would be a family.  He snorted derisively.  He should have taken Juno and run right then and there.  Family’s only ever brought suffering.  

The burn gave a particularly nasty throb, Nureyev jumped, hissing against the onslaught, clutching high over the wound.  How long would they last like this?  

The comms started to beep.  Nureyev glanced down and saw activity on the screen.  The details were lost to him, but what was known was that the guards of Galactic Stars First Bank were on the move.

He wasn’t sure what that could mean, but it couldn’t be good.  

There was a rattling at the door.  Nureyev’s heart plummeted.   Now?  Of all times.  Why couldn't they just leave them alone?  

Someone, or something pounded on the door, a large someone judging by the racket it made, setting Nureyev’s head to pound.  There were voices from the other end.  Nureyev’s mind stretched them into something sinister and ominous.  He straightened his leaden limbs.  Preparing himself.

If they expected him to go out without a fight, then they were sorely mistaken.  

The door was flung open and Nureyev used the last of his strength to launch himself at the intruders.  The blade sung through the air, making contact judging by the grunt.  A large blurry person shouted, staggering away from the knife.  

They weren’t fighting back.  

That was strange.  Not only weren’t they fighting back, but they seemed to be calling out to him-  As though they- recognized him.

It did nothing to soothe his fears.

Nureyev collided painfully with the door jam wheeling around and-

“���ansom!  Ransom!  We are not a threat!  Ransom!”

He staggered, a familiar figure in a tan overcoat swam before his eyes.  

Nureyev- knew that coat.

“J-Jet?” he asked, bewildered.  How was it possible that they were there?  They’d left them?  Hadn’t they?  Blackness encroached on what was left of his vision.  

“Yes.  We have come to collect you.”

“Oh- Thank the stars- ” and Nureyev knew no more.  

[bootleg-nureyev-steel-institute]

Relationships: Mag & Peter Nureyev, Buddy Aurinko & Peter Nureyev, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, vague Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay

Characters: Peter Nureyev, Mag (Penumbra Podcast), Buddy Aurinko, Juno Steel, Vespa Ilkay (she's there for a tiny bit)

Additional Tags: Post-Episode: s03e21-22 & 25 Juno Steel and What Lies Beyond, Nightmares, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Listen I love Nureyev very much, and I am firmly on team "He did nothing wrong", but writing inspo strikes when it strikes

Summary: He can't physically be walking down the hallway with Mag again. Can he? No. No he can't be. Mag was dead, after all, and decided to make a brief reappearance in his dreams. That's all it was.

-------------

In which Nureyev dreams of his parental figures and others he left behind.

Fic under the cut:

"You've finally done it now, Pete."

Peter startled. He had just found a hidden corner in an alleyway in a city just like most cities in the galaxy. After days of getting as far away from the Carte Blanche and Dark Matters as he could, he finally let himself stop, breathe, and try his hardest to not think of Juno, who he has abandoned. Only soft whispers and confessions remained, and those were tainted with all of Nureyev's disappearance and all his flaws. Turns out it was a good idea to find a secluded place, because he has to be dreaming. He can't physically be walking down the hallway with Mag again. Can he? No. No he can't be. Mag was dead, after all, and was making a brief reappearance in his dreams. That's all it was.

While Nureyev was thinking over his situation, his former partner in crime stands still in front of a door. He looked towards Peter, calm as ever, and asked him to open it.

Peter did. And he regretted it right away.

The dark red light seemed to stick to every surface it touched, reminding Peter of the way blood slowly moves down a wall when splattered. The metal cylinder in the middle stretched up, high enough that not even Peter’s sharp sighted gaze could see to the top. The Reactor floated in the middle, and while the first time Peter saw it gently bobbing and full of promises, the slow up and down movement seemed menacing this time. Taunting. Waiting.

Peter was very distracted, he realized, as Mag had already made it to the center. He reached up a hand towards the Reactor, the red light of the room and the soft glow of the Reactor lighting his face, illuminating his ruminative expression. Mag stepped back.

"Do you remember this? How full of dreams and potential you used to be. You wanted to be known everywhere. To bring hope. To do good." Mag's face stretched into a cruel smile, and for a second… Peter thought he saw Buddy. "It's a shame, really. That you couldn't handle the price. You always were soft, especially when thinking of family." Mag turned around fully, and he wasn't Mag anymore. He looked- she was Buddy. Her long red hair covered half of her face as always, and Peter couldn't tell where her hair ended and the harsh red light began. Her nails seemed sharper than usual, and her smile crueler than she would let it look. Before, her smiles held a bit of hesitation, uncertain of whether or not Peter could be trusted. Now she knew her answer.

"How is family going for you, Pete?"

Peter quickly scrambled backwards, the shock of seeing both Mag and Buddy causing him to momentarily forget that he could simply disappear as he usually does. The glares from both of his parental figures, people he had betrayed despite all they have done for him, paralysed him. He wanted to run. He really did. But all he could do was press himself closer to the wall and hope the ground would swallow him whole. Or that the guards would run in. Anything, anything but this.

"We've trusted you, but look what you've done, Pete." And as both their voices got louder together and his ears filled with a sharp ringing noise, their images flickered, swapping out with each other like someone changing the channel on a hologram too quickly. Mag was covered in blood, stab wounds that Peter put there, a timeless mark of the harm he has done towards a man who loved him, who raised him. Before Peter could take in more of his blood soaked appearance, Buddy stood before him. Tall, proud, and disappointed. She offered him everything. A home, a family, a life beyond the cycle of bland hotel rooms and faceless socialites. She was wearing her wedding dress, and Peter could almost see Vespa standing at her side, finally with the love of her life, saying "I told you so."

"They call you an Angel, unaware that you simply hide your horns and your halo is carved from deception." They stepped forward as one. One face, one body. One voice.

"You're pathetic."

With that, Peter sank to the floor. He really was, wasn’t he? And in the red glow of everything in the room, Peter could almost see their physical blood on his hands. He could feel the cold of the knife and hear Dark Matters board the ship and taste a metallic tang where his teeth cut through his cheek, and his usual mantra of ‘Lesson one of thieving, don’t get attached. There are consequences when you leave them behind. Lesson one of thieving, don’t hesitate. An indecisive thief is a dead thief. Lesson one of thieving-’ filled his head and his mind and he wished it would ‘stop, please stop, I don’t want to hear it anymore’ and as all this swirled around him like a never ending storm, the figure before him came to a stop. Buddy- Mag- they crouched down in front of him and cupped his face oh so gently. Peter leaned into the soft touch, painfully aware of how undeserving he was of kindness.

“Lesson one of thieving, Ransom,” and the figure before him started flickering faster. Jet, Buddy, Vespa, Rita, Mag, Richard, James, Vespa, Rita, Buddy, Jet, Mag, Buddy, Mag.

The flickering stopped, and suddenly Nureyev was looking straight into Juno’s face. Wonderful, beautiful, amazing Juno. Until he suddenly had a wintry smile on his face, and all the warmth that gathered in Peter’s chest grew cold.

“Know when you’re not wanted.”

[gemsofthegalaxy]

Juno Steel tangled AU where, oh... idk.......

Ramjack stole one of the two royal babies, Juno Steel, away from Queen Sarah, and raised him as his own because he discovered Juno has magic healing hair (which is worn in braids as he grows older so he has even a slight chance of handling it. also it’s magic so-). Ramses never meant to keep Juno away forever, he only needed to experiment and figure out how to extract or replicate the healing properties of Juno’s hair (never mind he doesn’t know anything about science or magic) so he could help people. Think of all the people he could help. 

but it still leads Juno to being locked in a tower for approx. 20 years, alternating between bouts of cleaning and reading and painting, and sad, unproductive episodes where he longs for a life he doesn’t remember, he never had, leaving him hardly able to leave bed. 

Juno happens to be in a half-decent headspace, though, when the thief Flynn Ryder (or perhaps Rex Glass, or Duke Rose, whichever name suits him) aka Peter Nureyev scrambles into his tower while running from the guards of the nearby castle. Juno is NOT impressed and hits him with a cast iron pan, then ties him up. 

Peter is immediately just a touch taken with the lady in the tower, but he knows he needs to make haste and get away with the crown he nicked. His financial security is more important than a pretty face. 

Luckily (or maybe unluckily) for him, Juno -who has hardly met another person in his life- demands that the thief take him to see the lanterns that are released on his birthday each year, which is happening in three days. 

And while he is well aware this is a stupid, unnecessary risk to his already-sorta-botched crown heist, Peter agrees. He also recognizes, just a bit later than he should have, Juno bears a striking resemblance to Prince Ben and happens to share the very same birthday. Go figure, huh?  

The two set out on a whirlwind adventure, with Ramses following in the shadows,  to try and get Juno back.

Along the way, they get to know one another, and Juno starts to question who he really is, why he was kept away from society for so long. After a couple days of flirting bickering, Juno shows him the magic hair, by way of healing an injury on his hand. Nureyev even tells Juno his real name, and about growing up on the streets of a far-off kingdom that he can’t return to anytime soon. 

They start to discuss their hopes, and their dreams, but Juno admits he never bothered having any, aside from seeing the lights, and that barely counted. It seemed pointless, stuck in a tower. Peter suggests a few dreams for him, such as seeing the world, owning the most lavish collection of jewels. Perhaps finding a family, a place to belong. 

At some point, Ramses gets ahold of the crown that Peter stole, and, when he manages to get Juno cornered and alone, he uses it as proof Peter couldn’t possibly care about Juno, he just wants money. Juno doesn’t want to listen to him, but- it’s hard not to. Why would somebody like someone like him? Especially Peter, who is so well traveled, when Juno has seen nothing of the world? 

Still, Juno hides the crown until after they see the lights. Until after Peter tells Juno that he’s his new dream. Juno almost gets the chance to let Peter prove himself, too, but the chance is pulled from him when Ramses sets Peter up to be accosted by some other thieves Peter had (admittedly) screwed over in the past. 

However, on the way out of the city with Ramses, Juno catches a glimpse of a poster with a baby’s face on it, as well as a fairly recent portrait of Prince Benzaiten, who looks an awful lot like Juno himself (but with much shorter hair) 

Upon reaching the tower, it all clicks into place, and Juno confronts Ramses. Ramses is.... not very happy with this development. He tries to explain to Juno, but Juno is pissed, he isn’t having any of it, so Ramses starts to resort to more extreme measures. 

Nureyev returns for Juno, but, of course he gets caught up in a trap by Ramses. Juno tries to sacrifice himself for Peter and Peter begs him not to. 

At Ramses’ hand, Peter almost dies, and as Ramses clinging to Juno’s hair Peter cuts it, causing Ramses to fall out the window to his own death as Juno screams at Nureyev not to die on him. 

Juno’s tears, of course, contain enough magic to save Peter from certain death, though. They share a watery and emotional kiss. 

Peter returns Juno to his mother and twin brother, and he sort of assumes that will be that.

He manages to get only a few steps away before Juno runs up to him and throws his arms around him, squeezing him tight and asking him “Just where do you think you’re headed, at least without me?” Peter’s face splits into a grin and he tells him “Nowhere, darling, I’ll go nowhere without you.” 

And they live Happily Ever After 

[hopeless-eccentric]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Characters: Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev Additional Tags: Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, this takes place some time in early season 2, Post Episode: s02e01-02 Juno Steel and the Kitty Cat Caper, nureyev ends up in a rough patch and has nowhere else to turn, Requited Love, Pining, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Hatred Summary:

When Juno came home and found Peter Nureyev on his couch, he assumed he was dreaming. He was probably better off that way.

However, dreams didn’t curse at him under their breath in a language Juno couldn’t place. Dreams didn’t reek of blood and rain and blaster fire. Dreams didn’t cut through the vague, blue-tinged gray left when Juno’s curtains tried and failed to hold back the bustling Hyperion City night with a glare so potent Juno felt something twinge in his chest.

[ivyontheholodeck]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Characters: Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev, Rita (Penumbra Podcast), Mick Mercury, Sasha Wire Additional Tags: Temporary Character Death, Post-Season/Series 01, Not Season/Series 02 Compliant, Ancient Martian Technology, no beta we die like Hyperion mayors, i really need to stop writing ghost (1990) aus, Mild Sexual Content Summary:

Hyperion City. Where dreams and detectives go to die. Where the hissing wind off the sands rattles beer bottles in empty alleyways and never quite lets you rest.

Juno always used to say he'd sleep when he was dead. Turns out, he doesn't get that luxury.

[miss-mollys-ballet-blog]

Ballets of Marius Petipa: The Sleeping Beauty

Myriam Ould-Braham (Paris Opera Ballet), Alina Cojocaru (Royal Ballet), and Viktoria Tereshkina (Mariinsky Ballet) in Aurora’s act 1, 2, and 3 variations.

Sleeping Beauty is the most classic of all classical Petipa and Tchaikovsky ballets.  The story of a beautiful Princess cursed to sleep for 100 years until she is awoken with a kiss from her true love.  The ultimate fairy tale with beautiful tutus, tiaras, and lavish sets in all productions.  

The Sleeping Beauty premiered at the Imperial Mariinsky Theatre on January 15, 1890 with Carlotta Brianza dancing Aurora, Paul Gerdt as Prince Desire, and Marie Petipa as the Lilac Fairy.  It was considered an immediate success, with much of the acclaim focused on the famous Rose Adagio when Aurora dances with 4 suitors and includes 2 infamous balances where Aurora is en pointe with a beautiful attitude; I highly recommend watching it here.  Another sign of how successful it was is after the Garland Waltz (or the Once Upon a Dream music), Petipa was called out to take a bow after that piece.  However, there were some people who were not impressed and some were scared that the classical “ballet feerie” would bring out the end of ballet, which up until that moment had intense dramatic plots and true character development.  Tsar Alexander III was at the general rehearsal right before the premiere; when Tchaikovsky was called to the Imperial Box, the Tsar told him the ballet was “very nice” which Tchaikovsky took as a slight insult!

The ballet was kept as a Saint Petersburg gem until the first production outside the city took place in Moscow at the Bolshoi Theatre, staged by Alexander Gorsky in 1899.  He based his choreography on notes he took while watching Petipa’s version, however his notes were stolen and have never been found.  Petipa’s version original version was last performed in 1919 and was replaced with the first Soviet production by Feodor Lopukhov performed in 1922 and the version the Mariinsky still performs today by Konstantin Sergeyev premiered in 1952.

In the west, the story of the Sleeping Beauty was told in ballets prior to Petipa/Tchaikovsky, however Petipa’s version debuted in 1896 at the Teatro Alla Scala.  The ballet was the first performance to mark the reopening of the Royal Opera House after World War Two; it was a production by Ninette De Valois and Nikolai Sergeyev with Margot Fonteyn as Auorora, Robert Helpmann, and Dame Beryl Grey as the Lilac Fairy.  Throughout the 20h century, the Royal had productions by 5 different productions, however in 2006 the company revived De Valois’ production with Alina Cojocaru (in 2nd gif) as Aurora.  

Other productions include Yuri Grigorovich’s at the Bolshoi Theatre, Peter Martins’ at the New York City Ballet, Rudolf Nureyev’s at the Paris Opera Ballet, and Alexei Ratmansky’s at American Ballet Theatre.  

[stubbornjerk]

so i have a headcanon that brahma is the philippines and it goes a little bit like this (this is from a thread on my main twt)

do you know how colonies work? a colonizer finds a place that's already harboring current lives and takes over it. so pre-War, humans already lived in brahma. maybe there were nonhuman ppl who also lived there, but the history? gone. vanished without a trace.

and it's not because no one had any records back then, it's just that they were all deleted. 

so the people "native" to brahma were indoctrinated to fight the colonizer's War, having no history to look back on. 

and the people left behind had to be wrangled into complacency.

it wasn't always the guardian angel system. the constables were there first. natives and foreigners were segregated, then intermingled illegally, as all people eventually do. policing was disproportionately against the natives, who remained poor throughout it (yep, even in future space capitalist hellscape, acab)

oh there were revolutions. not silent ones. ones with blasters the size of your head, ones with guerrilla tactics, ones that were hard to silence until the war was starting to reach its end and new kinshasa rose into the sky.

funded. the bastards were funded now. they had enough to make blasters bigger than your head, started abducting people who stirred the pot and scraped the filth at the bottom.

and then, there was silence. twenty years of it as the rossignol’s made the guardian angel system.

oh, but where would a story about revolutions be without our main contenders?

FLASH FORWARD: mag ransom was a rebel in a group posing as a fraternity. he was the best of the best in getting intel, came from a wealthy family with colonizer blood in his veins, and he always had a knack for strategy (never mind the fact that he was one of the few who actually got a new kinshasa education). he had a bit of an extremist streak, but the revolution sowed the bounty he gave them.

just until they couldn’t anymore. 

until he told them about his plan for the GAS and new kinshasa. 

 at first they thought he was joking. but when he tried to wrangle a few of their best fighters with him and got them captured and put the rebellion/revolution at risk, they didn't have much of a choice but to kick him out.

peter nureyev was born inside a prison to a revolutionary father. 

 nureyev sr wasn’t part of ransom's scheme. no, he was captured earlier on with a lover of his. they had a reputation for strategizing and his lover had a leader’s charisma. but they were captured. 

peter was a blessing in their cell. 

 when peter was old enough, they took him away.

mag caught wind of nureyev sr's death but didn't care. just another on the list of ppl they commemorate publicly (in the heart of the jungle, their remaining base untouched by the system and the cities). when he heard whispers about a son, it didn't really register.

seven years. seven years until he finds peter nureyev being chased down by constables in the streets, evading them easy as anything, his laughter carrying throughout the alley. 

the GAS didn't shoot down minors, and constables took satisfaction in beating them. 

but they had to catch him first and nureyev was so very good at disappearing

mag sees nureyev's potential as he finally escapes the constables, taking his loot out from under his shirt: a necklace. 

 a luxury, this pickpocket steals. not food or drink or medicine or clothes. just something to make him feel good about himself.

this pickpocket of a child had wants and wishes. in mag’s privileged mind, this was potential. survivors were so locked into survival they rarely ever dreamed.

it takes mag a few tries to introduce himself to this slippery little thief

(the first 2, nureyev mistakes him as someone from NK and runs, which, fair). 

 mag's brahmese isn't as fine as his solar, but he manages to pull through enough to ask for a name. 

“anong pangalan mo?”

 "peter nureyev."

[mollymauk-teafleak]

but they’re one and the same

Nureyev is a man of contradictions, Juno realises when he sees how he interacts with children in a situation all too familiar

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment on Ao3, it makes my day 

---

When Nureyev had told Juno how amazing it was to see new planets practically every week, to never stay in the same place, to experience the uniqueness of every corner of the galaxy, he hadn’t believed it, not really. It had felt like something a character in a stream or a novel would say, and you could trust that they believed it but it would never be true for you, not in the world you lived in.

Juno thought he knew all planets were the same, at their core. If people never changed, how could the surfaces they walked on? He’d assumed the solar system was just eight and change repetitions of the same rotten system he’d seen on Mars, people either hurting others or getting hurt themselves. Heartbroken cities with paint over the cracks, a nice neat circle around the people who had money and the people that didn’t you could read in the amount of parks and unbroken windows.

And he’d been right, to a certain extent. But he’d realised, as a bona fide member of the Carte Blanche, that both could be true. A crowd of impossible things that didn’t seem to go together could all actually be true, he’d found.

Nureyev would always say that his favourite planet was whichever one they were currently on. So right now it would be Saturn, second largest in the system, with it’s beautiful pale blue sky with its layers and layers of billowing, translucent clouds, streaked with those ever present rings, like giant parenthesis around the whole thing. Only a fraction of the planet was habitable, most of it being clouds that solidified and thickened as you moved further in, making glancing up feel like being at the bottom of an immense, white well.

The markets of Saturn’s surface were famous, Nureyev told him, because where other planets had modernised from the early settlers and shifted to brick and stone and metal storefronts, Saturn had kept it’s stalls of wood and flowing silk in a hundred different colours. It was for the aesthetics, apparently, to mirror the bazaars and souks you could have found on Earth centuries ago, to remind them that they hadn’t come all that far from home.

But this wouldn’t look much like the history books, Juno thought. The bones of it were there in the fluttering, colourful hangings and the wares laid out on woven blankets. But he doubted that twentieth century Earth had shifting holograms projected in the air to entice customers, stalls selling spaceship parts and AI downloads and cybernetics or food stalls with fruit from half a galaxy away. And he doubted the stray cats looked at you with quite so many eyes.

But it was beautiful and it was alive. About ten songs from ten different buskers swirled together in the air, meeting in a strangely non-cacophonous melody. Juno could smell spice and honey and herbs he couldn’t even name, he heard voices in dialects he didn’t know and fashions he could barely wrap his head around. It was all just noise and colour and bodies, bright and beautiful in ways he hadn’t encountered yet, things he’d spent so much of his life being unable to see.

It helped when his hand was in Peter Nureyev’s. They had a day off while their latest haul was sold, what Buddy jokingly called their shore leave, and all week Nureyev had eagerly been talking about this one particular stall that made the best honey cakes in the galaxy. Juno had been surprised his refined, wine connoisseur husband even entertained the idea of street food but he apparently had a must visit on every planet and wanted to watch Juno’s face while he tried each one for the first time.

Juno was more than happy to go along with whatever he wanted. His smile hadn’t slipped once from his face since he’d woken up that morning, he was comfortable and content and being eagerly pulled through this colourful new world by the man he loved. He would have ran to any one of Saturn’s eighty two moons if Nureyev had asked him of it.

They finally found the stall he was after, a tiny one that was little more than a blanket and a small awning covered in red silk, hemmed in by much bigger and flashier ones. It was manned by an elderly person who Nureyev tipped double for two paper cartons of small, circular cakes dipped in translucent gold.

“Okay, okay,” Nureyev grinned, spearing one on a tiny wooden fork once they’d collapsed onto a bench, “Close your eye.”

Juno chuckled, “Babe, come on, I’m starving! I didn’t have any breakfast cos you said we were going to eat our weight in these things.”

“Please?” he put on a playful pout and batted his eyelashes, stretching out the word, “Just for the first one. It’s worth it, I promise.”

Never having had any intention of saying no, Juno closed his eye and dropped his jaw for Nureyev to feed him the cake, imagining how it would taste better on his lips when he kissed him.

It was five seconds before he realised he’d been waiting a little too long.

“Uh...babe?” he prompted to no response but the background noise of the market.

Finally he opened his eye, seeing he was suddenly alone on the bench. For a split second that felt like an eternity, Juno scanned the crowds around them in a panic. Their last job seemed to have gone smoothly but what if it hadn’t, what it they’d left something or someone had caught wind of it and Dark Matters or a rival group had taken Nureyev in that moment his eye had been off him.

Fortunately, he saw him before too long. He wasn’t struggling in the grip of some sunglasses wearing suit and he didn’t have a hack job modded laser knife being held to his throat. He was just crouching at the mouth of an opening between the stalls, what they would call an alley if the buildings here were made of brick, facing something in the shade, something hiding from even the weak sun of this outer planet.

Juno frowned, approaching slowly just in case there was some kind of threat. Not that he didn’t think Nureyev could get himself out of any trouble that found him but there was value in some back up. And it wouldn’t have been the first time one of their dates had turned into a firefight.

But all he saw when he came up behind Nureyev, walking so his boots didn’t disturb the gravel under them, was a young girl. She clung to the shadows of the waving silk above them but that didn’t hide how her hair was long and uncombed, her cheeks were smudged with dirt and eyes wide with want and hunger. There were no shoes on her feet, just knotted strips of fraying cloth, and all she wore was a dress that didn’t fit, getting ragged at the edge.

Juno inhaled softly, feeling his chest tighten.

Nureyev was already talking as he approached, mid sentence, his voice low and comforting, “...would you mind telling me your name? Mine is Peter.”

The girl didn’t know what to make of him, it was clear. She wouldn’t be used to people actually acknowledging her, not just letting their eyes slide off her form like she didn’t really exist.

“May,” she eventually murmured, her eyes not settling on Nureyev’s face.

“That is a lovely name,” he said gently, “It makes me think of springtime. That’s my favorite season. What’s your favourite season?”

May shifted from one foot to the other. She was so small though whether it was from her age or her malnutrition or just the way she was holding herself so she could hide better.

“I like...when the fireflies come out,” she whispered, directing it at the ground between them, “Summer.”

“That must be beautiful,” Nureyev spoke like this was any normal conversation, rather than one happening in a hidden corner at a volume barely above a murmur, “You seem like a very nice girl, May. I’m very glad I met you today.”

Wariness fringed her gaze as she risked a glance up at his face, her hands knotting in anxious fists at her side. But she didn’t look like she would bolt at any moment.

“Do you know that stall over there, May?” Nureyev pointed back the way they’d come, “The cake stall? A person called Olla runs it?”

May nodded immediately and Juno realised what his husband had just done. He’d made sure the girl would know the cakes had come from a trusted source, that they were safe.

“Here, I ordered some but I don’t think I’m hungry right now,” Nureyev held out his still full parcel, still warm and steaming in the air, “Would you like them?”

The girl had clearly been living on the streets for a long time, she hesitated before she reached out and took the cakes. Almost immediately she began to eat, unable to focus on anything else. Nureyev just waited patiently, not even having to look as he took Juno’s carton too when he held it out to him.

The second portion allowed May to slow before she gave herself a stomach ache, honey on her fingers as she glanced back up at them and murmured, “Thank you…”

“It’s our pleasure, May,” Nureyev insisted, “This is my husband, Juno, by the way.”

Juno raised his hand and waved, smiling gently. How many smiles had he gotten when he was that age?

Nureyev pulled out his purse, “May, you don’t have to take this if you don’t feel comfortable, but I’d like to give you something to help you get by. Is that okay?”

May’s eyes widened when she saw the creds he held out to her, the full purse without hesitation.

“It’s okay,” Nureyev smiled crookedly, “I know this must seem strange. But I was a lot like you when I was your age and I’d like to help however I can.”

May considered that, clearly still unsure if she was dreaming or not, but she took the purse all the same. Better to take it and consider afterwards.

“Thank you. Inside there is a card with my number on it. If you ever need anything, May, or you feel like you’re in trouble, please consider calling me. I know people on this planet, good people, who’d be pleased to help you. I’m just sorry I can’t stay and talk for much longer.”

May held the purse to her chest and nodded slowly, managing to meet his eyes.

“It will get better, May,” Nureyev promised, his voice strong and sure, “I promise it will.”

With that, he stood, still moving slowly so he didn’t startle her. He bowed slightly, thanked her sincerely for her time and walked away casually like he’d just met an old acquaintance in passing. Juno flashed May another smile and followed, finding he had to jog to catch up. Nureyev was walking faster than he’d realised.

He couldn’t help a glance back over his shoulder into the shadows but May was gone, just two cartons with honey still clinging to the inside left on the gravel.

When he was side by side with Nureyev again, he wasn’t surprised to see tears behind his husband’s cat eye glasses. Wordlessly, Juno reached out and squeezed his hand, giving him as much time as he needed. As it happened, he needed as long as it took them to cross half the markets.

“I just…” he said suddenly, the words bursting out of him, “I just remember when I needed to hear that. When all I needed was for someone to see me. So every child I meet who's clearly struggling, I just take the time to talk to them. And when I have the ability to help, I do.”

Juno nodded, lacing their fingers together even tighter, “I wish there were more people like you. People who cared.”

Nureyev gave a sigh with a slight tremble to it, stroking the tears from his eyes with his thumb, “But there’s still millions more…”

“And you’re just you,” Juno murmured, “You can only do what you can do. Don’t take the weight of it all on yourself, not when you’ve just done everything you could do.”

Nureyev glanced at him, the corner of his mouth quirking up, “So the next time I say that to you, will you believe me?”

“Probably not,” Juno admitted with a rough chuckle.

Nureyev came close, leaning into him as they walked into the night, already gathering with Saturn’s shorter day.

Reality could hold several contradictions at once, Juno had learned. Things that made each other impossible, things that were impossible inherently, it welcomed them all. People never changed but each one was unique. Planets were the same. People could be thieves and family. Someone could be gone while also being in every move you made, every word you spoke as yourself.

The universe could be cold and cruel and brutal, chewing most people up into bits and spitting them out. It could be beautiful, full of music and laughter.

And it could have someone in it like Peter Nureyev.

[princegabriel]

@lilyistryingherbest requested Chained to a Bed with someone on the Carte Blanche or Damien. Of course, I picked Juno “Listen, when you get tied up as often as I do” Steel. Thank you for the prompt! @badthingshappenbingo 

Snare

by princegabriel/ FaintlyMacabre

Rated: M

Characters: Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev, Jet Sikuliaq, Vespa Ilkay, Rita, Original character

Summary: If, for whatever reason, you were to ask Juno Steel, he would tell you that no, seduction was not his wheelhouse. If he were feeling chatty, he'd probably tell you, without much exaggeration, that back on Mars, a night out had an even chance of ending in a bar fight as in a hookup. He was abrasive, and brash, and naturally unpleasant. 

But under certain circumstances, he can give it a shot. It just may not go as planned.

CW: This one’s kind of a doozy. (Under the cut)

Dubious consent—I'd describe it as uninformed consent on the part of one character, and unenthusiastic consent on the part of the other. Both are deciding to do what they're doing under their own steam, but for sketchy reasons. Also, as part of the plan, Juno drugs the antagonist to knock him out so he'll be out of the way for their heist. I didn't write sexual assault, but Juno experiences a loss of control that he definitely does not want to be experiencing, and panics as a result. The feeling/themes are similar, so if that's a no-go, totally get it, turn back now, take care of yourself! Also, alcohol, references to murder, and canon-typical quippy tone (may be jarring to some readers, given the subject matter).

---

If, for whatever reason, you were to ask me, I’d tell you that no, I’m not exactly a natural seductress. (Also, never ask me that. It’d be weird.) I’m not the type of lady who can charm my way into someone’s bed or even their good graces. I’ve got just enough charisma to be annoying.

Again, don’t ask me. But you know who maybe should have?

Buddy Aurinko.

Maybe if she had, I wouldn’t be lying here, chained to a bed in an unexpectedly swanky hotel room, but really, it wouldn't be fair to put all the blame on Buddy. Let me start at the beginning. My name’s Juno Steel. I was a private eye, who was a cop, who became a thief, and if most of the people I left behind in Hyperion City could see where my life has taken me, they wouldn’t bat an eye. Or if they did, the eye they batted would be mine.

Our crew's on a "relocation" mission to a little satellite hotel orbiting Pluto. The creep who runs this place is kind of a hoarder, and his is the kind of hotel where dreams (and, according to rumor, the occasional interspace traveler) go to die. The job was basically show up, rob a terrible person, get out of dodge. There was just one thing I didn’t like about this plan.

“Remind me why I’m doing this again?” I leaned back against the high top table, holding a drink like a lifeline in one hand and fighting the urge to push away the hair covering my eyepatch with the other.

“It’s because you’re so incredibly charming, love.” I jumped a little. That wasn’t the voice I’d expected to hear.

“Ransom?” I hissed. “Where’s Buddy?”

“Not happy to hear my voice, Juno?” The question was all tease and no hurt. “The captain thought I could use some practice working behind the scenes.”

Well, I knew what that meant. “So, you got bored?”

“When I have you to worry about?” Nureyev quipped. “You’ll forgive me my caution; you do have such a talent for getting into trouble.”

“Which brings me back around to my question.”

“You are playing this role because both Buddy and Ransom are wanted by the Plutonian government, and because the rest of us are unsuited to this kind of undercover work.”

“Big Guy! When did you connect to this line?” I'd nearly choked on my drink when Jet’s voice had rumbled into my head.

“I have been connected this whole time, since I dropped you off.”

“And you didn’t think to say anything?”

“There was nothing to say,” Jet said. “Talking would only have been a distraction.”

“You must admit, you do fit the profile of our mark’s usual type,” Nureyev said. I didn’t have to admit any such thing, but I knew. Osric Salazar, multi-millionaire, hotelier and general misanthropist, liked his partners more rough than refined, more sour than sweet; in the slinky dress that showed off a fair number of my scars and holding a double shot of whiskey that was threatening to vanish into thin air, I fit the type pretty neatly. It was maybe the only thing I’d ever fit into neatly in my life.

“Yeah, yeah, the role was made for me,” I said over the glass. “The part I’m not thrilled about is where I’m the bait.”

“'Bait' is such a strong word, dear,” Nureyev said. “This is really more of a honeypot job.” His voice sounded neutral, but carefully so. To anyone else, I'm sure he would have sounded genuinely calm, but there was something in his diction that made me think he was less assured than he let on.

“Well, either way, I’m pretty much just a piece of meat on a string—”

“The target is approaching on your three o’clock,” Jet cut in. “Do not turn quickly; it appears he is trying to stay in your blind spot.”

I made myself sip at the drink and lean on the table as though I wasn’t about to be ambushed.

“Don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before.” The voice was like honey over coffee grounds, and I probably would have liked it if it hadn’t belonged to the owner of this... fine establishment. The Renegade’s Arms was just far enough from everywhere that people only went there when they had nowhere else to be and just enough of a dive that it wasn’t frequented by anyone rich or flashy enough for people to make a fuss if they vanished.

“There’s a first time for everything,” I said, refusing to turn and look.

“Let’s hope there’s a second one, too.” Salazar walked around the table and into my field of vision, but… a little higher. He was a wall of a person, reminding me of Pilot Pereyra, who’d used their intimidating size and demeanor to cow every would-be opponent into submission for years as mayor. I hoped it would be easier to exploit Salazar’s weakness than it had Pereyra’s; that walk in the desert had been no walk in the park.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said, and ignored the rise of Salazar’s eyebrows as I knocked the rest of my drink back. “You gonna buy a lady a drink?”

“Oh, sugar, it’s on the house.” I tried not to flinch at the hand that Salazar planted on my back, which steered me the short distance to the bar. “Another?”

“Whiskey, neat,” I said, setting the empty glass down on the bar.

“Make it a double,” Salazar told the bartender. “Top shelf.” The bartender nodded and once again, all the bastard’s attention was on me. Great.

“So, what’s a pretty lady like you doing in a place like mine?” Salazar purred. The sound sent chills down my spine, but definitely not in the way Salazar intended. Well, probably.

“Currently, getting drunk for free,” I said. “So, thanks for that.”

“I’d take it as a personal offense to find out that a gorgeous creature like you would ever have to buy his own drinks.”

“If you wait there, I can give you a whole list of people I know who’ve personally offended you,” I said.

“Gorgeous and funny,” Salazar said, looking me up and down in a way that made me want to wash with sandpaper.

I did the next best thing and downed my drink. “Thirsty, too.” Salazar raised a hand and gestured to the bartender, who got me another. “So this is your place?”

“I haven’t exactly made it a secret,” he said, looming closer.

“I hear people do small talk,” I said, “you know, early in their acquaintance.”

“So you’re sticking around?” Salazar said. He was even closer now, and he smelled aggressively like mint and aftershave. It wasn’t terrible, and everything was going according to plan, but knowing who this person was, I felt kind of queasy about it. In my earpiece, barely audible, Nureyev huffed out a short, sharp breath.

“Not like I got anywhere else to go.” I looked down into my drink while I said it, trying to look like like I wasn't angling for anything more than a bed for the night and someone to help me keep it warm.

“I wish I were sorry to hear that,” he said, practically in my ear. “But really, the way I see it? Whoever you’re running from, their loss is my gain.”

I turned to look at him again and all I saw was teeth. I couldn’t help but recall the first time I’d seen Nureyev, when he was just Rex Glass to me, and the smile that looked like he could rip me apart, easy and natural as breathing. This was different. Salazar’s teeth were big and blunt, like tombstones; it would take him some work to tear into you and he’d enjoy it.

Hopefully he’d take my focus on his mouth as interest rather than self-preservation.

I’d told Buddy I was all right to kiss a mark if the job demanded it, and I was. I’d told her I was all right to do more than that if I knew about the possibility beforehand, though hopefully in this case the neurotoxin-laden lipstick I was wearing would do its job before that became an option. Nureyev and I had talked about it—we were both coming at this with our separate and collective baggage, but honestly, I’d thought it would be a harder conversation to have. We decided that if it was the best plan we had and if whoever was on the job was comfortable, it was all aboveboard.

When Salazar pushed the door to his apartment closed and then pushed me up against it to kiss me, though, I couldn’t think of anything but Nureyev on the other side of my earpiece. If he was still there. I definitely wouldn’t blame him if he’d decided to hand it off to someone else.

Salazar kissed like he was fighting, and I grabbed the collar of his shirt so I’d be ready if it swung in that direction. One of his hands slid up my thigh, taking the hem of the dress with it. I stopped him when he got to my hip.

“Not,” I said against his mouth, “doing this against the door.” At the very least, the farther into his apartment we went, the longer he’d be distracted. And it gave the lipstick a few extra seconds to work. Salazar was a big guy, it might take a bit.

The bed was in the next room. It was big, covered in a rich-looking comforter and sheets that probably had some kind of thread count, with a huge ornate headboard, from which hung a—Jesus Christ. He had a pair of cuffs threaded through it. I was starting to rethink the door.

I didn’t get a real good look at it after that because Salazar spun me around and walked me back until my knees hit the edge of the bed. He climbed over me, biting and sucking at my neck, and I had a moment to just hope this lipstick was as unlikely to re-transfer as Buddy said it was, before I felt his teeth moving up to my ear. The ear with the earpiece. The earpiece I was using to stay in contact with my fellow crewmembers for the purpose of robbing the person who was currently getting real familiar with my earlobe.

“Hey, uh, no,” I said, like a professional, “my earring—”

“Oh,” he said, pulling back, and I tried not to sigh with relief. “Let me get that for you.” And he fucking took it off. The only positive side to the situation was that it really was a gorgeous ear cuff with a hidden wireless transmitter and he didn’t seem to suspect. He put it on the bedside table and picked up where he left off. And I thought, “Maybe it’ll be fine, maybe they won’t need to contact me for a while, maybe they get what they need and I sneak out while he’s unconscious and that’s that, job well—” A siren cut off the “done.”

Salazar sighed, hot on my neck. “I hate to leave you here, gorgeous—”

“Then don’t,” I said.

He shook his head. “Nothing else for it.”

“Uh, hey, but wait,” I said. “If the fire alarm’s going off, shouldn’t I be getting out of here too?”

“It’s not the fire alarm,” he said, getting up and smoothing out his clothes. “It’s the burglar alarm.”

Yeah, I’d been afraid of that. “Okay, well, if there are dangerous burglars around, maybe I don’t want to be a sitting duck.”

“Oh, if that’s what you’re worried about, darlin’, don’t be.” He came back and I thought for a second that it had worked, turned out I was pretty good at distractions after all. He took my hands and kissed me, and yeah, I actually felt kind of smug about my performance right up until the cuffs closed around my wrists.

“What,” I said.

“Didn’t want to bring these into play so soon, but we adapt, don’t we, sugar?” he said, with a fucking wink. “I can’t have you running off before I get back. Don’t worry, I’ll lock you up safe as houses.” I wished a house would fall on him.

He took a handgun out of a drawer, waved at me without looking back, and then he was gone. I heard the click of two locks, and that was the last I saw of Salazar.

So now you’re all caught up.

I wait a few seconds before turning my head in the direction of my removed earpiece and saying, “Hey, he cuffed me to the bed, get me out of here.” I have no way of knowing if anyone is responding, or even if they can hear me at all. All I have is this dress, a pair of stupid strappy heels (what is it with Buddy and putting me in six-inch heels?), and zero arm mobility. Well, not quite zero. I look up at the headboard. It isn’t metal, at least, but it doesn’t look cheap either. It’s either wood or painted to look like it, and if it is paint, it's been expertly applied, which points to good quality. If Nureyev were here, he’d have a lockpick in his sleeve or metal-tipped nails or something useful, but he’s not, so I pull myself up to sit against the headboard and start scraping the chain against the back of it to try to wear through.

“That alarm’s still going,” I say through gritted teeth as I try to saw through the headboard. I hope they can hear me, but even if they can’t, it helps to think they might. “Means Salazar's probably knocked out, definitely hasn’t resolved the situation, so I guess you’re still holding your own. In case you’re done before I get out of these, I’m in Salazar’s quarters, the door past the stairs, in the second room. Two locks on the door.” The cuffs are chafing my wrists, but I just clench my fists and try to go faster. “God I hope you get here soon, this is the least efficient way to get out of this but it’s all I’ve got.” The alarm shuts off and instinctively, I stop moving. It’s too quiet to move.

“Damn it, whoever’s listening, say something!” I hiss. I’m getting uncomfortably close to panic. “Yell, come on, just say something!” I feel trapped in these shoes and this dress and these fucking handcuffs and so I start moving again, pulling the chain forward like I could break clean through the damn headboard. It doesn’t work, just like I know it won’t, but I can’t do anything else. I can’t do anything. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

In the quiet, I hear the locks click and I freeze again. If it’s Salazar… he might suspect I’m part of this. Is he coming back to kill me? I get my legs over the side of the bed just for solid ground underneath me, the smallest illusion of control. It puts my arms at an even more uncomfortable angle, but they were never going to do me any good here anyway.

I can’t hear footsteps, and I don't know what the hell that means. I feel myself start to spiral again until I see Vespa in the doorway with a duffel bag.

“Oh, thank god.” Should have known—of course the assassin’s not going to make a sound. I’m sure I’d feel weirder about her seeing me like this if I weren’t so relieved.

“Where’s the key?” she says, looking right, left, up, right again, checking for… security cameras, maybe?

“I don’t know!” I say. I feel like my body hasn’t caught up to my brain, which hasn’t caught up to my mouth. Adrenaline is still rushing through me—it couldn’t shut itself off the instant I knew I was saved, but I’ve apparently started to autopilot into our usual dynamic. “He didn’t exactly give me a tour. ‘Hey, just to be on the safe side, here’s the key to the cuffs I just surprised you with, also I’m definitely not going to murder you—’”

“Shut up, Steel,” she mutters. She’s already got the drawer of the little side table open and there’s the key. I guess it’s not something he really has to hide. In a second, my wrists are free. “Come on, Sikuliaq’s got the car running.”

I grab the ear cuff and slide it back into place while we get out of there.

“Mistah Steel oh my god please don’t be dead or hurt, say something please,” Rita’s sobbing into my ear.

“Let's go, Steel," Vespa whispers over her shoulder. I nod and let my eye focus on the green shock of her hair to follow her out as I turn my attention back to Rita before I worry her into an early grave.

“Rita,” I say, “Rita, I’m okay. I’m out. Vespa got me.”

“Boss?” she says, sniffling. “That you?”

“It’s me,” I say. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Only I could hear you and I was trying to tell you Mistah Jet and Miss Vespa were on their way and you didn’t answer and you sounded so scared—”

Yeah, I don’t want to think about that right now. “I’m okay. We’re headed back to you.” Vespa's taking us out the fire exit, in the opposite direction of the guest area, and there's Jet, just like she said. We get in the backseat and drive away into the night as the last of my adrenaline gives up the ghost and I let the now-familiar smell of the car ground me.

I'm okay. I'm going home.

[space-city-traffic]

Ok, hear me out: the Junoverse characters in a very loose Wolf 359 roleswap AU. (Emphasis on loose.)

For the Hephaestus / Hyperion City:

Imagine Peter Nureyev, the man of many names and just as many motives, but as a mysterious and quasi-feral mad scientist who just keeps popping up. Listen, I know Hilbert is kind of awful, but Nureyev could be like a.... better, sexier Hilbert. Still a con man with a million identities and questionable morals, but make him sciency this time.

Which puts Juno Steel in the role of Lovelace, who keeps runing into way too many versions of Doctor Glass—er, Rose—Ransom? He can’t keep track and he is sick of it. He used to trust the system, but now he knows that he has to fend for himself and the people he cares about. But even though he seems like a jerk, he really does want to do good and look out for people. (Bonus points if you connect Lovelace’s old crew with Ben Steel and Annie Wire. The friends from the past who Juno couldn’t save.)

Rita is absolutely Hera—techy, adorable, underestimated, and incredibly powerful. Enough said there, I think.

Mick Mercury would be Eiffel, a loveable goofball with hidden strengths and struggles. My headcanons for them even look the same tbh.

Sasha Wire would be Minkowski, always fed up with Mick but also very protective of him. She relies on the system, she takes her position of authority seriously, and she’s not above harpooning people if they really need it.

For the Carte Blanche / SI5:

Buddy Aurinko as a version of Kepler that... isn’t awful. Still a fearless leader with atrocious humor and ridiculous stories, though. I can hear her doing the whiskey speech.

Vespa Ilkay as Jacobi. Please imagine this woman with explosions AND knives. It’s good for the soul. Also, they both deal with a lot of regret and anger while kind of idolizing their captains, so there’s that.

Jet Siquliak as Maxwell. Great with mechanical stuff and fascinated by RITA.AI (the two make a horribly chaotic duo). And the Ruby7 should be another AI in there somewhere, I think.

And for the villains:

Ramses O’Flaherty as Cutter. Just, yes. A million faces, a million names, and more power and manipulation than you could dream. All for the greater good!

Which I suppose would make Pryce into the Theia Soul. Especially interesting when you remember how Pryce was in Eiffel’s head, just like the Theia Soul was in Mick’s. (This is why we need Hera and Rita, y’all.)

It’s all very loose, of course, and the dynamics between these characters would be totally different than in W359. But as a jumping off place for an AU... something to consider indeed.

[ernmark]

Ok, in the space vegas fic, we have Juno realizing he's screwed and actually really into Peter. How about the moment when Peter realizes he's actually fallen for Juno? 👀

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | NSFW Part 9

It isn’t inevitable. 

Juno may insist that there’s no getting out of it, but he hasn’t seen the escapes Peter has made over the course of his illustrious career. If he wanted to avoid a phone call, there was no force in all the universe that could make it happen.

It is important to note, then, that Peter fully consents to having this conversation with Juno’s secretary. And not because he was bullied or annoyed into it, as Juno seems to believe. True, there may be an inkling of guilt involved-- after all, it was Peter’s carelessness that spilled the secret of their relationship to her in the first place-- but Peter would hardly call it a guilt trip, either. 

In fact, he rather enjoys their conversation.

“So this is Rita!” he effuses, the moment she appears on the screen of Juno’s comms. He flashes his warmest, most winning smile. “Juno’s told me so much about you, but you’re even lovelier in person.”

Really, it takes nothing at all before she’s blushing and giggling, her questions deflected with compliments and charm and gushing commentary on the most recent drama streams. 

Juno watches him the entire time-- at first ready to intercede and yank the comms out of Peter’s hand, then scowling and surly, and finally dumbfounded as his secretary dissolves into a drooling mess. 

“How the hell did you do that?” he asks, once Peter finally ends the call. 

“I just found the right way to talk to her. There’s a right way to talk to everyone, Juno – you just have to find it.” Peter folds the comms and presses it into Juno’s hand, leaning too close to be casual. His fingertips linger against Juno’s palm. “Here’s hoping we find ours soon, eh?”

“Real funny, Nureyev.” Juno rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop his gaze from flitting to the point of contact. “You already got me in bed with you. I think we’re past the point where you need romance me.”

Peter leans closer still. “But what if I want to romance you?” 

Juno misses a beat, but he manages a shrug. “Everybody needs a hobby, I guess.” 

“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind joining me for dinner and a show tonight. There’s a performance of Love in the Time of Vaudeville that I’m told I can’t miss.” 

--------------

The show is, naturally, a delight-- even moreso thanks to a running commentary from Juno, shared behind a cupped hand during the show, and bantered over the dinner table as they share their meal, and mumbled incoherently across the pillows as he drifts off that night. 

Peter stays awake, watching as Juno’s face goes soft, as his eyes flit about behind their lids while he dreams, as he drifts into the deepest phases of sleep.

This is the time to get up and leave-- if he waits too long, Juno might wake up from the sound of it-- but Peter puts it off for another minute, and another, and another. Juno just looks so vulnerable like this, so trusting and tender and sweet, and Peter wants--

He slips out of bed and into his clothes without making a sound. 

Peter wants to not be caught, and that means taking care of the paperwork before the Solar government catches wind of an Outer Rim terrorist in their space. According to the keyloggers he left on City Hall’s servers, the marriage license has finally been filed. It’s time to move.

Getting into the building proper is no issue, thanks to the key card he swiped from the assistant governor’s pocket just before the show. The cameras are obvious and easily avoided. Just like that, he’s in the filing room, staring down a hundred thousand physical documents.

His gloves whisper against the stacks of file folders until he comes to the right date and time. The marriage license and certificate, each signed in a drunken but unfortunately legible scrawl: Peter Nureyev. 

He slides them free from the file and slips them into his bag. These nobody will miss-- enough documents get innocently misfiled every day that their absence will go unnoticed. 

Now all that’s left is the digital record.

It won’t be difficult. He already knows the passwords. Using one of the local networked computers will get him safely past the firewalls and security encryptions. It’s even well-organized, as far as government filing systems go. He finds the file quickly.

All it will take is a few key strokes, and he’ll be no longer married to Juno Steel.

His name will be a secret once more. He can leave Venus behind, and with it the hotel room, and the performance, and the pretend relationship and all its absurd trappings. 

He stares at the file, his fingers lingering over the mouse, not quite willing to open the file. 

It doesn’t make sense. Why should he hesitate? This past week was certainly fun, but it was a vacation from his real life, nothing more. Years from now he’ll look back fondly over his brief marriage, but that’s all it will ever be: a fond memory. 

But he doesn’t want it to be just a memory.

The realization closes like a fist around his chest, and suddenly he can’t breathe. He doesn’t want it to be over. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He wants to keep being married to Juno-- he wants to take him to dinner and talk to him for hours about things that don’t matter and listen to his breathing slow as he falls asleep. He’s gotten the briefest taste of a hundred quiet intimacies, and he wants to bask in a hundred thousand more-- he wants to explore them all. 

With Juno. Only with Juno.

He opens the file.

[nureyevv]

Thirty Seconds

There were many not great things that happened in the first thirty seconds Juno Steel spent back on Mars after trying to leave Hyperion’s worries behind him. The worst thing, though, was that in the time before those thirty seconds, things were good. Peter and him had finally worked things out, finally gotten to a place of stability in their relationship. Were things perfect? Of course not. But each night Juno fell asleep next to the same warm body and woke to the same loving smile he thought that, maybe, he might actually have a forever to look forward too. It was a sentiment he’d lost a long time ago, and wasn’t unhappy to be finding his way back to.

And then thirty seconds hit. Two steps off the ship and the crew was surrounded by the Hyperion City Police Department, blazers angled toward them and ready to fire. They’d dealt with cops before. Juno May have been new to the life of crime but Jet, Vespa, Buddy, and Nureyev all had the mind to get out of scrapes just like this one. By all accounts things should have been fine, and they almost were, until someone spoke. 

“Juno?” asked a familiar voice from within the chaos. Had it been anyone else he probably wouldn’t have even noticed. He would have stayed where he was, standing next to Nureyev and waiting for his signal to make their move. This wasn’t anyone though, in their voice he could still imagine his old wedding dress, packed away and out of sight but never truly gone. He’d never been able to bring himself to sell it. After all, he’d never gotten the chance to use it for its intended purpose. Or, at least, he liked to think that he hadn’t. It was a bit of a downer to think he spent all that money for the gown he was going to wear as he sat alone on the altar steps. 

“Di—“ he said, forgetting himself and spinning around to face the voice. Peter stiffened at his side, eyes ever focused on the guns aimed at them. His eyes flashed with fear as he moved to grab Juno’s arm, but it was too late. At his right Rita yelled a warning. He couldn’t hear exactly what she’d said, because by then his sudden movement had been enough to startle a shot out of some amateur cop’s pistol. 

It hit Juno square in the back and he crumpled at the impact. He’d had enough experience being shot that he was able to put together that the bullet had been set to stun in the split second before the world went dark. Really, though, that knowledge didn’t bring him much comfort, because it was right then that he found the face among the crowd: Diamond, beautiful as the day they left him on their wedding day. 

Nureyev was next to lose his composure, or maybe it was Rita. It was hard to tell for sure as he slipped out of consciousness, but they both rushed for him as he fell. Peter seethed like he was only barely restraining himself from not taking each and every one of them out then and there. He was pretty sure Rita yelled something along the lines of, “oh you’re gonna regret hurting the boss— now you’ve got another thing comin, and her names RITA!” 

And then he was out cold, long before he ever got the chance to see if the two of them really did end up charging a squadron of officers. He didn’t know if he dreamed, but he was sure even his worst nightmare would be nothing compared to the lecture Buddy would give him when he came to. 

—

After that thrilling assortment of particularly unlucky moments, Juno had trouble deciding whether his fortune had really changed when he came to.

Pros and cons: pro, he knew where he was. Con, “where he was” was a Hyperion City holding cell. Pro, he wasn’t alone. Nureyev was to his side, looking tired and a bit less pristine as usual, but alive all the same. Con, Juno had some explaining to do. 

He was working on being more open— he owed Peter that after everything they’d been through, after the pain he’d caused. Juno had shared parts of himself he thought he’d never say aloud, and it was terrifying, but it was also really really nice. It made him feel like he might actually have a chance of moving on. That, one day, he might have a future with this man. 

Diamond hadn’t even crossed his mind as something to bring up, though. Nureyev knew the basics: he’d been a detective for the HCPD once upon a time, but the corruption had nearly driven him insane. It’d started with late nights at the office, hoping that if he worked hard enough, he might be able to be able to balance out the immoral aspects of the law department with his own dedication. When that wasn’t enough, he started looking into closed cases for signs of malconduct. He’d received a few nasty blows from that stunt. Bad cops didn’t take a liking to him digging around in their business. He’d gotten solid evidence, though, and that made it worth it. When he gave that to the captain it’d be over—they couldn’t dispute hard facts. One by one he’d clear the precinct of criminals wearing badges. 

Or, at least, that’s what he thought would happen. He’d been so naive back then. 

Across from him, Nureyev stirred, having noticed Juno was awake. His back still ached, so he hadn’t attempted standing, yet. He was sure that Peter noticed this, always observing, and as such had decided to meet Juno where he sat on the cell’s bench. He felt a slender hand caressed his cheek. Juno leaned into the comfort. Dark eyes studied him, and Juno could practically see the question on his face.Nureyev being Nureyev, though, he didn’t pry. Gently, he pulled Juno towards his chest and wrapped him in a warm embrace. 

“Are you alright, Juno?” He asked, that familiar vulnerability in his voice that made Juno’s heart jump from his chest. It made him think of how this man holding him, a master of hiding the truth of himself, could so easily trust him everything.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he murmured into Nureyev’s collar. He soaked in that scent he’d been unable to name all that time ago and had finally come to mean “home.” 

“Don’t concern yourself with me-- I’m fine. The question is, are you?”

Was he fine? Juno supposed the short answer was yes, he was still in one piece. Yes, he would live. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to say the words, not when there was so much else that needed to be said. He needed to tell Peter. He hated this feeling that he was keeping something from the man who could be arrested and still only worry about him, if he was hurt, if he needed help. 

He thought back to what came after he’d handed in his reports on corrupt officers, trying to recall the important details. “I need to tell you something,” he stammered, pulling away from Nureyev’s embrace to look him in the eye. 

“Juno…” Peter began, but he didn’t let him finish. 

“No-- I want to tell you. Please.”

Nureyev still looked hesitant for a moment, almost guiltily, as if he’d forced this out of Juno rather than it being his own choice. It was almost funny-- as if Peter could make Juno feel uncomfortable, even if he wanted to. The thief didn’t have that sort of unkindness in him. A moment later, Nureyev’s face relaxed, and he nodded. 

So, Juno said what he needed to say.

A few weeks after he turned in his paperwork on what was happening in the office, the reports went missing. He brought it up with anyone who’d listen, but nothing changed. If he was being honest, he sort of started obsessing over it. Rita didn’t bring it up, but she’d been there through all of it and she’d seen just how bad he’d gotten. It was a wonder she hadn’t quit on him, but she wasn’t the only one he’d been close to in those days, and many others weren’t so patient. Diamond, his partner, had a front row seat to the shit show. 

For all the bitterness Juno held for them now, he had to admit they had never been a dirty cop. It was why they had worked so well together, both at the precinct and in… well, everything else. By day they did what they thought was right; they kept the city safe. But for Diamond, being a police officer was just a job, a job they enjoyed, yes, but a job all the same. For Juno, on the other hand, his badge controlled his entire life. He didn’t know any other way. 

They’d been happy, though, when they were together. Diamond would cook, Juno would burn toast, and then when they got to the office they’d spend the day side by side, trying to make the world a better place. Sure, they weren’t always happy. Juno wasn’t even comfortable, some days, when he’d find himself caught up on something that had happened at work and Diamond would scowl at him for being such a downer. He still remembered the look on their face at dinner one evening when he’d mentioned something about a case that was still bothering him. 

“It’s solved. We caught them.”

Juno’s brows had knotted together. “I know, but Di, the witness said the perp used a wrench, not a blaster--”

“Juno,” they’d snapped, and he lost track of whatever it was he was planning to say next. “Drop it.”

So he had. At least, until he was sure Diamond was asleep and he could look through the evidence on his comms without waking them. No relationship was perfect, though. No one had a partner who listened one hundred percent of the time. No one had a partner who was happy to lend an ear to their loved one’s every anxiety. And really, if a person like that did exist, what had Juno done to deserve them? 

So they’d gone through the motions. They dated, they moved in together, they got engaged, and they set a date. 

Despite it all, Juno really had loved them. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone, and that had to count for something. 

As their wedding approached Juno became more and more absorbed in his work. A good fiance would have noticed that they were growing apart, but he was so convinced he could change things that it flew right over his head. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep. He just worked, all the time, nonstop. He’d insisted they couldn’t ignore him forever, they’d either have to kill him or listen to him, but either way they’d have to do something. And, to their credit, they did do something, it just wasn’t what he’d expected. 

They fired him.

Looking back, that must have been the last straw for Diamond. Sure, they’d been reluctant to end it, but it wasn’t like they didn’t know Juno was a mess when he walked down the aisle. It was a small service, most of the guests attendees were people Diamond knew, and Juno had always got the sense that their side of the guest list wasn’t his biggest fan. And yet, with all the warning signs right in front of him, the great detective Juno Steel didn’t suspect a damn thing until Diamond hesitated half way through their vows. 

Time stood still for a moment before it shattered.

“Juno. Look, I’m sorry, but I just… I can’t do this. I can’t be afraid that one day you’ll have a melt down and leave me alone.

”When Juno didn’t reply, they rambled onward. “I need stability, someone who will be present, like, actually present. I-- I’m so sorry, really, I am. But I can’t.” 

He was sure a lot happened in the time after Diamond left him there, alone in his ridiculous white dress, but honestly all he remembered from the aftermath was feeling empty, like the world dropped out from underneath him. And after that, he remembered going home and sleeping on his own. 

Time went on, and he never spoke to his ex fiance again until earlier that day.

Peter listened to him speak, his face like a vault. If he was hurt, it didn’t show. When Juno finally finished, there were a few moments of silence between them, and he felt as if he might suffocate if Nureyev didn’t say something soon. 

And then Nureyev reminded him who he was talking to. 

He leaned in and pressed hip lipstick stained lips to Juno’s with a kiss that felt like dawn of the morning after the end of the world. Peter’s hand on his cheek pulled him closer and, instinctively, Juno reached for his sleeve, afraid he might slip away. It was warm and safe, but most of all it felt like being loved. He could have lived in that kiss. He could have gone through anything as long as he still had Nureyev’s body up against his.

Of course, it had to end, but Juno didn’t feel like it was an ending. Really, it felt more like a promise, like a beginning. When Peter pulled away there was barely an inch of space between them. Juno could feel his breath on his face when he spoke.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” said those loving lips, “but I cannot honestly say I wish it hadn’t happened. I’m just not that selfless. If it had never happened, I wouldn’t have the best thing in my life. You, Juno.” 

There was an intensity in the way he spoke, a fire in his eyes, that made every word ring painfully true. And, of course they did, because this was Peter Nureyev. He was a blessing Juno had no idea how he’d been lucky enough to earn. He was that someone who listened, even after every mistake he’d made, because he loved him and wanted to hear what he had to say. 

All over again, Juno was hit with the knowledge that he would burn oceans to keep Nureyev at his side. It was the least of what his boyfriend deserved. 

Juno smiled, all the tension that had haunted him suddenly gone, and let his head droop onto Peter’s shoulder. “Peter Nureyev, I love you so fucking much,” he mumbled, bordering on incoherent.

Nureyev laughed and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “And I you, my dear detective.” Then, changing the tone back to business: “How about I break us out of here, then? I’m sure Buddy and the rest are long gone by now. Maybe, if I’m lucky, we’ll run into your old friend and I’ll be able to thank them for making what is possibly the stupidest mistake I have ever heard.”

Reluctantly (and not without some somewhat childish whining) Juno allowed Nureyev to pry himself from his arms and get to work. As expected, almost immediately after he was free to examine the lock, he cracked it. Juno heard the distinct pop of the tumblers as Peter opened the cell door. 

“You know,” he said as they made their escape, “I didn’t know you had such an interest in being married. I suppose I’ll have to keep that in mind.” 

“Ha, yea,” Juno murmured.

A split second passed and he continued, flustered: “Wait, what--”