#he walked out on Nureyev once. to be loved is to be changed and he won't walk out a second time unless he's pushed.

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Something about Juno "I don't know what the hell I'm going to be next, but... God, I wanna know. I have to." Steel just hits me so hard like- C'MON!

[ananxiousgenz]

TPP HADESTOWN AU PART 6

whaaaaat part 6??? we're shifting into nureyev mode guys

tagging the regular crew: @smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde (@demonic-panini you're getting tagged too bc i've seen your reblogs :D)

it was so cold. and he was so damn hungry.

food and firewood had been scarce in recent years because the weather had been so brutal, but even then peter nureyev was no stranger to cold and hunger.

he had spent most of his childhood hopping between towns, traveling whenever the winds changed, always hungry for more food and better work. it didn't do him much good. things were always just as bad at the next town as they were at the last.

that was, until he met juno steel.

juno was.... a lot of things. a singer. a sweetheart. stubborn. gentle. clever. funny, and often unintentionally so. they met and got married in a rush, which would make most people nervous, but peter didn't mind. rita had been right about him, that day they first met at the bar.

juno steel was pretty damn good at making people feel alive again.

for the first couple months, things were good. no, not just good. they were wonderful. even if he wasn't singing that song he was so hellbent on finishing, something about juno's presence was so soothing. it made peter feel like he could finally begin to take off the layers of exhaustion and stolen identities he'd worn like armor for the past decade or two. those days, he would fall asleep in juno's arms, and when he dreamed, he dreamed of spring rains and new leaves and a world that had finally been spun back into tune. he dreamed of a future for himself and juno, with a little house and a garden, and maybe one of those big dogs he'd always been so fond of. even if things still weren't right with the world, he was starting to have hope- no, faith- that they would be. that juno's song would work.

he was finally beginning to feel human again. love will do that to you, I suppose.

and then the weather took a turn for the worse.

juno began spending more time on the song and less time working, the money began to dry up, and the food and firewood went with it. peter started waking up late at night to an empty bed, and the distant notes of the song floating up through their window, open to the frigid night air. once, he even caught juno muttering about the gods and their song in his sleep, and he was beginning to get worried.

peter tried, more than once, to ask him about the song, ask about the money, ask how long it would be until things were okay again, but it was like juno couldn't hear him. all he could hear was fractals of the song and its siren promise of spring again. he asked rita once if this was normal, and she said it was, and buddy, the woman who owned the bar, said it was nothing to worry about, but that didn't set his mind at ease at all.

because it seemed like there was nothing else to be done, peter nureyev decided to take matters into his own hands.

he began searching around for easy sources of food and warmth, but with most vegetation dead from the constant cold and wind, there was little to be found. peter was no stranger to pickpocketing and theft if it was absolutely necessary, but that became a bit difficult when there was almost no one around to pickpocket. jobs in the area were scarce as well, and peter wasn't sure how much longer they could rely on buddy's gracious nature for a place to stay. simply put, they were running out of options and time.

and that was how he ended up here, trudging through the snow and biting wind with an empty belly and little more than a shitty coat to keep him warm. he wasn't sure how long he had been out walking, but he knew it had been hours. each step was starting to feel like a herculean effort, and he was pretty sure if he risked removing his hands from the pockets of his coat, they just might fall off his body.

he didn't know where to go next. but he was getting dizzy, and large splotches of the world were beginning to disappear as his vision faded in and out. he was just. so. hungry.

hidden in the snow, he tripped over a ledge and landed hard on his knees. the pain rattled his already cold-brittle bones and he hissed out a pained breath through his teeth.

when peter had struggled to his feet, he saw he had tripped over the platform edge of a train station. it was completely deserted. funny, he could still remember the days when a station like this would have been packed with people going on vacation or traveling to visit family, maybe even looking to start a better life.

now, everyone knew. it was the same everywhere you went. so there was no point in trying to leave to find better weather or work or food.

he looked up from readjusting his coat and scarf to see that the station wasn't completely deserted after all. a tall man in a long, brown jacket stood at the other end of the platform.

peter and the man regarded each other for a moment before the man crossed the platform with large, heavy strides.

"good evening, sir. would you like a job?"

peter took a step back. ".......what?"

"I repeat: good evening, sir. would you like a job?"

the man spoke like a robot, clear and even, but unsettlingly emotionless. something about him wasn't right.

but the promise of a job.... it meant food. warmth. another month in the apartment buddy rented out to peter and juno. more time for juno to finish his song. and that was all he needed right? just a little more time.

peter narrowed his eyes. "how do you know I need a job?"

"your coat is torn in multiple places and covered with dirt, your glasses are broken, and you look like you have not paid attention to your personal hygiene in some time. poverty is a difficult thing to cover up. we employ only the very poor and truly desperate."

nureyev bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snapping. "fair enough."

the man smiled a bit at that, and handed him a slip of paper. peter opened his mouth to ask, but the man cut him off.

"if you wish to accept our offer, meet me back on this train platform at 5 o'clock. that is your train ticket. do not lose it. good day, my associate."

with that, the man turned around and walked off the platform, and out into the snow.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

“don’t do that. don’t shut me out.” + Jupeter

I wrote this for @spiky-lesbian because she’s had a rough week so here’s some angst babe, go figure 

----------

“I’m getting too old for this.”

Juno was pretty sure PIs were supposed to think that sort of thing when they were doing something cool and dangerous, like leaping the gap between the cars of a moving train or ducking behind crates at a harbour to avoid laser fire.

Rather than crawling on their stomachs to get their pet sewer rabbit’s favourite ball out from behind the sofa. But hey, it was his day off.

Then again, Small Fry did look delighted when he straightened back up with a loud groan and the cracking of some vertebrae, whiffling her nose and hopping excitedly, shaking the floorboards of their little apartment. Smiling fondly, Juno threw the ball off down the hallway so she could chase it, squeaking happily.

“Next time that happens I’m not getting it out for you! You can go make goo goo eyes at your daddy for a change,” he called after her, brushing dust from his curls and his shirt. But the smile didn’t fade from his face, even after she had rounded the corner to go and cause mischief somewhere else. Anyone who said keeping a massive sewer rabbit in a modest Hyperion apartment was a bad idea was just too afraid of cleaning up the occasional broken lamp or gnaw marks on the walls.

He was about to straighten back up and go back to the book he’d been reading, he got so little time to do things like that these days but his husband was still at work, the boys were asleep and Bianca was happily playing in her room, giving him a rare hour or two to himself that he didn’t want to waste. He was mildly tempted to crack the lock on the drawer where Nureyev stowed away any case files he brought home so he couldn’t continue working himself ragged outside of his own office but, contrary to the size of the lock and the dedication with which his husband hid the key, he really was getting better at giving himself time off.

After all, it had been a hell of a long time since work was the only thing he had to keep him going.

He was about to do that when something else behind the sofa caught his eye, something that wasn’t just a toy of Bee Bee’s that she’d forgotten or one of Small Fry’s hordes of left socks that she liked to build nests out of. He was about to sigh and mutter something about the wonders of having three kids being that you’d find trash in the weirdest places but something wary ran its way down his spine. Something that was maybe instinct, maybe his detective brain putting pieces together and proving yet again that the years spent theoretically on the other side of law and order hadn’t dampened his skills.

Whatever it was, it made him reach out, once again feeling the twinge in the base of his spine, using his hip to nudge the couch further out so he could snag it and bring it out.

It was a small bag, something designed to be inconspicuously held at the waist or over the shoulder, dark in colour so it wouldn’t catch the eye. Juno frowned, the wariness growing stronger as he sat on the couch and opened it up.

He recognised the precision and fastidiousness immediately, like it was rolling off it in waves like too much perfume. It was in the way everything was crammed in so tight there wasn’t a spare inch of space, everything chosen for its shape and size so it would go in seamlessly like a game of tetris. It was in the items themselves, every possible scenario accounted for; dried rations, iodine pills to purify water, vouchers for shuttle tickets that would take you anywhere in the galaxy, tightly rolled stacks of genuine honest to god Earth currency to take you even further than that, no questions asked, clothes folded so tightly they looked like napkins at first. And, in an even more closely concealed pocket on the inside seam, fake documents, fake IDs, fake cards loaded up with fake creds.

And a knife. If Juno had been entertaining any doubts, any lingering threads of uncertainty, then seeing his tired reflection in that razor edge snipped them neatly away.

He sighed, long and low, filing through the emotions rising in his chest, sending away any that he knew weren’t helpful or were just offshoots of his anxiety, counting backwards from ten like Buddy had shown him until all the messiness sorted itself out.

He didn’t pick his book back up. He watched the clock and waited for his husband to come home.

Nureyev really enjoyed working at the salon. He kept waiting, expecting to get bored or frustrated with it all, but it hadn’t happened yet. He just laughed at the conversations with his colleagues more and more, got more familiar with the smell of hairspray on his clothes and felt a small spark of pride at the ache in his ankles at the end of a long day.

It was enough to make him feel something approaching hope.

He slid off his shoes, not wanting to track any dust from outside into the apartment. Living on Mars had meant needing to get used to the fine red silt clinging to his soles every day and turning up in the most inconvenient places, no matter how careful he tried to be. Juno, the Aurinkos and Rita barely even seemed to notice it. Nureyev assumed that came from growing up with the stuff.

The apartment was surprisingly quiet, enough that he was already getting ideas before he walked into the living room and saw his wife sitting on the sofa.

“What exactly have you done with our children, my love?” he grinned, “Bought us some alone time?”

Juno started a little at his voice, even though he should have heard him come in, the door closing, his keys rattling into the bowl. And when his eye lifted and met Nureyev’s, it was immediately clear that his ideas had been far off the mark.

“Yeah, Rita has them,” Juno’s voice was even, not full of scowls and snarls as usual, not in any way a ‘we’re in serious trouble’ voice but Nureyev’s veins still flooded with adrenaline as he rooted to the spot, a discordant clashing in his ears, “I did want to have some time with just you and me.”

“And yet you’re still dressed?” Nureyev was a little impressed with himself, how his tone came out still perfectly light and joking, like he wasn’t completely gripped by panic and his brain wasn’t scribbling blue prints behind his eyes.

It would seem hairdressing hadn’t lost him all of his skills.

“Babe, listen,” Juno sat forward, eye gentle, “Just come and sit with me, okay? Nothing’s wrong, nothing bad has happened or anything like that. I just want to talk.”

Nureyev frowned. Maybe he had lost his skills a little. Or maybe they’d just never worked on Juno.

But he did sit, stiffly, still braced for something awful in spite of his wife’s reassurance. And when Juno wordlessly produced one of his getaway bags and set it on the coffee table between them, he was ready to run.

But Juno didn’t let the moment build, he didn’t keep him hanging. He simply sighed and reached across the gap between them to take his hand.

“Peter, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Nureyev looked up, certain he must have misheard.

But Juno’s expression was firmly set in penance, mouth turned down, brow fallen across his eye which was soft and sad, “I never once asked you if you were struggling to adjust to the way our lives are now. I never thought to check in with you. I let you down in that and I’m sorry.”

“I...what?” Nureyev was well aware he was falling short of his usual articulation but no more words were coming in to fill the blank gap in his mind, “You’re not...you’re not upset with me?”

Juno frowned a little, shaking his head, “No. No, why would I be?”

“Because…” Laughter, of all things, raw edged and disbelieving bubbled up in his chest, “Because the only thing to take from this is that I’m insane or I was going to leave you?”

“Are either of those things why you’ve got these bags?” Juno asked evenly.

Nureyev winced, “You found the others?”

“No but I know you enough to assume.”

Nureyev took a shaky breath, “I’m not leaving you. And...and I don’t know whether I’m insane or not, honestly.”

The sadness in Juno's eye deepened and he squeezed his husband’s hand, “I don’t think you are but we need to talk about this. What exactly were you trying to prepare for with these?”

“I...I don’t know…” Nureyev didn’t like this one bit, this reversal of their usual roles, Juno being so calm and collected and even while he sat here struggling to leash his emotions, “Nothing! I...I wasn’t…”

Juno exhaled, something cracking through his calm, “Don’t do that. Nureyev, please, don’t shut me out. That’s the one thing I need you not to do right now.”

Nureyev felt his throat close and he couldn’t have said anything if his life depended on it. He didn’t want to shut his wife out, he really didn’t, but it was so hard to unlearn something that had been your first line of defence since childhood.

But if there was anyone who understood that, it was Juno.

“Listen, Nureyev, there’s no answer you can give me that will make me angry with you or upset me. I just want you to feel safe here with me and with the kids and...finding this, it’s just made me worry that you don’t?”

Nureyev forced his lungs to pull in air and turn it into words, determined to not be the man who had shut Juno out for years, the man who had packed those bags.

“I do feel safe here, I am happy here,” he promised, feeling the truth of it and drawing strength from that, “It’s just been so long since I stayed in one place, since...since I could feel safe. And sometimes it feels like another cover I’m wearing for a little while, like something’s going to change and I’ll have to run again. And I guess I just wanted to prepare for that, even if it isn’t what I want. Even if I’m praying it never happens, I just can’t let myself be unprepared. It’s not how I was raised. And having those bags...I can breathe a little easier. I can settle into this more because even if the absolute worst thing happens, I’ll survive.”

Juno nodded slowly, eye never leaving his husband’s face, “Nureyev, we both knew this was going to be a change. And change is hard, even if it’s for the better. And if this helps you settle down, I’m fine with that.”

“But I’m not,” Nureyev croaked, wanting to wipe his eyes so the tears there didn’t fall but also not wanting to let go of Juno’s hand, “I don’t want to live my life like it’s not mine. This isn’t a cover, it’s my family and my home and I want to feel like that.”

Juno squeezed his fingers, “This is yours, Nureyev. I’m your wife and they’re our kids and this is our home. No one is taking any of this from us, I promise. And if you need me to remind you of that, I will, every single damn day for the rest of our lives if that's what you need. And it fucking sucks that everything you’ve lived up until now is telling you different.”

“Yeah,” Nureyev mumbled, the tears falling and dripping off his nose now but they hit Juno’s hands before his own and he didn’t flinch, “It does.”

“Come here…” Juno murmured, pulling him close, wrapping his arms around him as their bodies fit themselves together, “You can cry, it’s okay.”

Nureyev did. Because he believed Juno when he told him it was.

They spent the rest of their rare evening alone pulling out all of the getaway bags Nureyev had stowed over the first week of their retirement from the Carte Blanche, all of the stockpiles of food as well, everything he’d hidden underneath their new life with Mag’s voice and the voice of a hungry child guiding his hands. They didn’t get rid of it, he wasn’t ready for that yet, but it went into a box under their bed instead.

And Juno still told him he was proud of him.

Nureyev thought there was always going to be that part of him that had Mag’s rules in it’s mind and a constant hunger in its belly. All he could ever do was fold it up as small as he could make it and find space for it in the back of his brain.

But with Juno’s arm around him and red dust on the soles of his shoes, that felt easier than it ever had before.

[gerrystamour]

Request fill for: @ghostzvne !!

Aaah so this is a request fill for Danny who greatly honoured me by asking for sweet, tender smut for his shapeshifter!au and I was like YES!!

So a few points:

I described Nureyev's body as gender neutrally as possible.

Nureyev does not have dysphoria in this fic because I can't write Nureyev with dysphoria for my own mental health.

Nureyev bottoms in this, so there is piv sex that is very vaguely described.

Smut is only available on Ao3!

-

Nureyev pressed Juno back against the bed, crawling over him with a searching look. Juno met his gaze with something painfully soft that had his stomach twisting. The way he looked up at him, his eye gentle and smile fond, was as if he saw him.

But it wasn’t Peter Nureyev who loomed over Juno, and it wasn’t Peter Ransom either. It wasn’t any of the other faces Juno may have seen or known, but a new one if only to protect… something. 

“What do you see?” Nureyev asked, genuinely curious. His voice was his own at least, and he liked the way Juno’s breath hitched at hearing it.

“You,” Juno replied simply, as if that was a real answer, before propping himself on his elbows to bring his mouth close to Nureyev’s in askance. He didn’t close the distance, only waited for Nureyev to meet him, to accept what he offered. Then he added earnestly, “I only ever see you.”

Nureyev let out a soft sound, screwing his eyes shut as he sat back on his heels and straddled Juno’s lap. “What is that supposed to mean, Juno?” he asked, overwhelmed and wrapping his arms around himself tightly. “I’m not—this isn’t me.”

Nureyev could feel Juno shift as he sat up, and he expected the rough palm that cupped his cheek with a tenderness he hardly believed himself worthy of. But he was selfish enough to accept it, and leaned into the touch, kissing the thumb that brushed over his lips.

“Can you look at me, Nureyev?” Juno asked softly, and Nureyev did without hesitation, and the smile that met his gaze knocked the breath from his lungs. Juno gently pulled him close to press their foreheads together.

“You’re right—This isn’t Peter Nureyev,” Juno said as he stroked his cheekbone with his thumb significantly. Then he held the palm of his free hand against Nureyev's chest and murmured, “This is Peter Nureyev.”

There was a beat of silence between them. 

Nureyev snorted, and Juno cringed. Nureyev couldn’t help it; he had to laugh, or he might have started crying.

“Okay, I admit, that was corny,” Juno groaned.

“Very,” Nureyev said, suppressing his giggles. “But it was also very sweet.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Juno laughed. “I’m trying—mmph!”

Nureyev twisted his fists in the front of Juno’s sleep shirt and dragged him into a kiss, hard and searching. On his next breath out, he nipped at Juno’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth, pulling a gasp from him. He couldn’t feel the shift himself, but he could feel the way Juno walked his fingertips across his changed cheekbone, more defined than the face he had been wearing. 

Juno reached up with his other hand to slide his thumb along his sharpened jawline. 

Nureyev pulled back and opened his eyes, waiting nervously as Juno took his time opening his, as if he was savouring the moment. When Juno finally looked at him, he inhaled sharply through his nose before smiling warmly, his entire expression softening.

“Wow,” Juno sighed, and he trailed his gaze down the length of Nureyev’s torso, now slightly longer and more narrow than the person he had been only a few moments before. Juno grinned up at him, and Nureyev felt something desperate and happy flutter in his chest. Pushing his hand back to card through Nureyev’s hair, Juno said, “Hi, babe.”

“Hi, love,” Nureyev replied, and he felt tears in his eyes.

Juno wasn’t looking at him any differently than he had before, his soft expression full of the same adoration, but there was a happiness to the set of his jaw that was impossible to ignore. Something loosened further in Nureyev’s chest and he knew he was ready to trust Juno again, with his heart, his face, and his past.

After the first night, following the heist for the Globe, Nureyev hadn’t allowed Juno to actually see him again, at least not for very long and not completely. Sometimes he would be Peter Ransom during their talks, and others he was someone else. Some nights he would start with one face, and end with another. In all those nightly talks, Juno had never seemed disappointed to see a different face, a different body, and that made something flutter in his chest.

There had been a night earlier that very week when Nureyev had worn his own face, and Juno’s breathless awe had been too overwhelming. When he had shifted to another face completely, Juno hadn’t even flinched, didn’t apologise or ask what was wrong. It was… comforting.

This would be the first time in months that Juno saw Peter Nureyev, both in spirit and form, sitting before him and he looked… reverent, awestruck. As if Nureyev was the most beautiful being he had ever seen and it was nearly too much all over again for him.

Instead of shifting, though, Nureyev leaned forward and pulled Juno into another kiss, hungry and needy as they toppled onto the bed.

-

Nureyev woke to fingers running through his hair carefully. 

It was the fantasy he had every morning just before he would open his eyes since the hotel room after Miasma. His breath caught in his throat as he hesitated to look. He wanted so badly to confirm that he wasn’t alone in his bed, but the fear gripped him too tightly.

At the gentle press of lips to his forehead, Nureyev opened his eyes and blinked at the sight of Juno’s throat and chest. Nureyev’s breath left him in a rush, and his eyes found Juno’s as soon as he pulled away.

It was real. He had let Juno Steel in, in more ways than one, trusted him once again with every part of him, and he had stayed.

Peter Nureyev had woken up and Juno Steel was still there.

“Good morning,” Nureyev said, smiling and wanting to reach out, but still afraid it would shatter the moment, that doing so would prove that he was dreaming after all.

“Morning,” Juno replied, grinning wider. 

Warmth burst in Nureyev’s chest and he scooted closer to accept a kiss. Things still needed work, of course, but for now Nureyev was wrapped tightly in Juno’s arms and wrinkling his nose at morning breath before shouting indignantly at being tickled after pointing it out.

Things were good; Nureyev was in love and Juno was as well, and they were together. That was all Nureyev was comfortable asking for from the universe, so he settled back into Juno’s embrace with an almost-giddy smile.

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Summary:

What if Juno didn't have time to heal properly from the soul incident before he and Ransom went on their first mission in the Aurinko crime family?

__________________

“I recommend we turn our walk into a run.” Nureyev said, not daring to look at the scene Miss Nova Zolotova was making.  “A very fast run, Go!”  and gave a gentle shove to the small of Juno’s back as they broke into a sprint, Juno hitching up the golden skirt as they fled.  His footsteps fell farther and farther behind, glancing back Nureyev saw his face twisted into a grimace “Quickly now Detective!” he called.

“I’d like to see you run in 6 inch heal-ahh!” he stumbled and Nureyev grasped his elbow to keep him upright at the very least.  He’d have to have a chat with Buddy about practical footwear later.  Hopefully. 

The security was closing in fast, one of them even throwing a flashy prop blaster at their retreating backs; the shot went wide.  It was no matter.  There was their ride up ahead, hovering just over the precipice of the floating mansion.  He’d rarely been so glad to see a car.

“When I say jump-”

“What are you crazy?! I’m not gonna-”

“Jump!” 

The pair dove into the transport’s open door, Nureyev never loosening his hold on a screaming Juno’s arm as they fell into a heap in the back seat.  

“Hello.” said Jet “please fasten your seatbelts.”

“A little busy- at the moment.” Nureyev disentangled an arm to pull the door shut.  “For now, might I suggest we make our getaway.”  Several drones shot out of crevices.  While the security inside had to meet aesthetic requirements, there were no such restrictions on the outer team.

“I’m merely pointing out that our escape may be bumpy.” said Jet, nonetheless plugging their route on the controls. Doing a complicated maneuver to avoid a hasty trap.  Juno hissed as the pair were jostled about, clinging to Nureyev in a peculiar fashion “The security is different from the schematics Buddy provided.” Jet grunted, pulling hard on the steering console.  

“They updated the security system at 2 a.m.” Nureyev supplied, throwing out a hand to brace against the car’s side.  

“2 a.m.?  A last minute security switch then.”

“Quite, not the most organized affair, but a switch nonetheless.” It was Juno that found that out, Juno that had saved his overly cocky self from being caught by the cameras.  He was still rattled from the whole affair.  

The lady in question was unusually quiet, the quietest he’d been all evening.  Huddling into Nureyev’s side where he’d landed; a hand wrapped around his middle, breath coming in fast and shallow.  Nureyev was reminded of Juno's less than favorable reaction to their joy ride in the Ruby 7.  Was this his motion sickness?  or- something else- concern welled up in his chest.

“Juno?” he asked softly, struggling into an upright position moving the other with him “You didn’t get hurt, did you?” 

“Wha?  No- it’s juss-'' he pushed away and leaned over “hard for a lady to catch his breath in a get up like this.  Besides'' he winced, reaching into the folds of the skirt “landed on something kind of hard.” and produced the Gilded Globe of Reaches Far with a weak smile, that made Nureyev’s nerves flutter.  The golden circuitry and intricately carved gems glinting in the faint light of the floating mansion.  Nearly losing it after a sharp maneuver from Jet.

“Might I suggest you put that away until we are back in the carte blanche?”  

Once back, they were informed to make a showing for the family meeting to debrief the others on the mission.  Juno disappeared to change, hobbling into the meeting room a half hour later looking morose. 

“So kind of you to make it darling. I was just about to send Jet after you.” Buddy greeted.  

“That dress is a nightmare to get out of.” he shot back.  

“Yes, well, if you need help, all you have to do is ask.  Ransom,” Juno made a funny sort of cough “has just been telling us the details.  It worked for the best this time, but for future reference, when you have an account filled with fake credits, best not draw too much attention to it.”

Juno sighed, collapsing into a seat.  Something seemed to be weighing on the detective, something other than the disaster of a mission the pair had endured.  Nureyev kept glancing over, noting the way Juno sat hunched over on himself, the tired way he recanted the mission, the way he tore their performance to shreds.  They had finally started to work as a team near the end, but before then- well, they both had a lot to say about the faults in their plans.  The only thing Buddy scolded them for was failing to keep her in the loop, and chastising Nureyev for not relying more on Juno.  

They had successfully retrieved the globe but it did not feel like a victory.  

Later, after the debriefing and a private word with Buddy, Juno came to his room to talk.  Well, Juno talked, a long winded apology Nureyev barely managed to listen to as his mind whirred with the information Buddy left him.

“Point is I’m jus- sorry.”  he stopped, eye over bright and wide in anticipation.  

Nureyev couldn’t think of what to say, it was clearly his turn, as it were, clearly the time to speak, but….

“Juno-” his voice came out soft and strained.  

The other man stood unsteadily “I-I’m too late aren't I, damn it, I- I should leave-” 

Nureyev swallowed, catching Juno’s hand in his “Not too late, Juno, not too late at all.” he gave a short humorless laugh “In fact, I can’t think of anyone I would want to stay with more than you.”  

Relief washed over Juno’s face as he pulled away.  “Hell, don’ tell me that’s it!”  He started to laugh, there was something off about it though, “You know how s-scared I was of-of this?  Of us?  Of- ahhh-'' he doubled over clutching his stomach for the second time that day.  

Nureyev dashed to his side “Juno?  Juno what’s wrong?” He grasped his shoulders trying to get him to look him in the eye.  They sank to the floor, Nureyev pulling him close like he had done in Miasma’s compound.  

That’s when he realized what was so off putting about the situation, Juno was in pain, serious pain and had been for quite some time.  Only he’d been too caught up in his own stupid thoughts to notice it before.  Just like the mission.  

The last instance he saw Juno this bad off was during Miasma's experiments in an old Martian Tomb.  

“Juno!”

“N-Nothin- jus feelin a bit woozy-”

“Woozy?” Nureyev pulled him closer, ghosting a hand down his side and- there was something damp there, sticky even.  

“Yeah, being swept off your feet has that effect on a la-ahh!” he curled tighter into his chest, like he did in the car, breathing far too hard.  “Don’ touch.”  Nureyev wasn’t paying attention now, thoroughly distracted by the russet smear cross his fingers.

“Juno you’re bleeding.”  His mind reeled.  Juno had been hurt, but when- how?  Why hadn’t he said anything.  

“Oh yeah, what do you know?  Thanks for the update.”

“Let me have a look.”

“N-no, it’s fine.”  He struggled to push himself upright, “shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh don’t be such a baby.” he pushed Juno back gently so he was resting against the dresser.  Juno let him, leaning his head back and closing his eye in exhaustion.  Lifting his shirt elicited a soft “ohhh-” from the thief.  

He was covered in injuries that couldn’t be more than a few weeks old, judging by the angry red and pink of the lacerations.  The corset couldn’t have been doing his healing process any favors.  Some of the wounds had opened, and Juno had placed large Band-Aids over the top.  Those would need tending to, but the one that was most concerning was one where a bandage was wrapped around his lower ribcage, blood dying the once pristine fabric a deep red.  

“May of had a lil’ more f-fun than anticipated today-”  

“Juno, what happened?” Nureyev cupped his face, gently stroking a thumb over Juno’s cheek bone.  He felt hot to the touch.  It only added to the concern.  

“Stupid really- I hit some space junk- and-” he paused, pulling in air “it hit back.” 

“Space junk-? Never mind that, why didn’t you tell us?”

“I did-”

“What? When?”

“At the meeting family thing.  Wasn’t- feelin my best-”

Nureyev thought back to the family meeting hours ago, he hadn’t been paying attention.  He remembered Juno supporting his resume and spilling his coffee moments after a defiant declaration to Buddy he could drink it.  The situation had been comical at the time, but he remembered how his hands had shook-  Same when he tripped on the carpet to the galla.  

Juno was many things, but he wasn’t a novice to heals or an elegant gown, his performance on the dance floor spoke to his skill.  His impatience to end the auction, and the way he’d bulled him over when he tried taking the globe prematurely.  The way his face had twisted, and how tightly he squeezed Nureyev-  Was that what had done it?  Or was it when they escaped to the transport-   

The truth was, Nureyev hadn’t been paying attention.  He didn’t pay attention and Juno was hurting because of it.

“Wasn’t feeling your best?  Juno, these are serious injuries.”

“N-not anymore-” Juno sighed “And we needed- the map- the Cure Mother-” he drew in another ragged breath “It could do a lot of pe-eople a lot a good.” 

Fear coiled in Nureyev’s gut as he thought of the words Buddy had said to him mear hours before ‘We are not legends- legends are dead things-’

How many times had Juno almost become a legend himself?  How many times had he tried to sacrifice himself for the greater good? 

“I’m going to get Vespa.”

“N-no!” Juno gasped, grabbing hold of the other’s wrist “Nureyev, please- I- I don’t want her to see me- right now.  Don’t need it-”

“Detective, you need more than I can give you.”

“It’ll stop- soon-” he was almost pleading “please, jus’ stay.” 

Nureyev looked at Juno Steel for a good long moment- he loved this man- it was a simple truth that he’d tried to run from- even going so far as to let him walk away on those soft feet in the dead of the night all that time ago-

He could live without Juno Steel- but it was getting harder and harder to understand why he’d wanted too.  

“Oh- have it your way Detective.  But you’re going to let me patch you up at the very least; I will not have you bleeding out on my watch.”

Juno gave an exhausted, wicked grin “Thanks Toots.” 

Nureyev relieved Juno of his soaked shirt and unwounded the bandage; careful as to not interfere with the clotting blood to reveal a truly evil wound.  A jagged V carved into the side of his ribcage, deviating into the vulnerable flesh of his stomach; half-healed bruises blotching his skin.  It wasn’t hard to believe Juno lost a fight with space junk.  The stitching had torn apart, none too neatly either.  

It wasn’t wise to stitch him up again, best let the doctor do the proper patching.  But, maybe, he could hold it off till morning.

He cleaned it best he could, Juno occasionally letting out little piteous sounds as he worked.  It was intimate, he could feel every stuttering breath under his long fingers, every twitch and tensed muscle.  He had him like this before, under more enjoyable circumstances, delighting in the honesty that played across his face-  But now- there were only gasps of pain and watery smiles.  Worry settled heavily in his chest, he’d just gotten him back, and now this-

Fresh gauze packed tight and back the bandage went.  Juno’s feverish head resting in the crock of Nureyev’s neck as he wound it tightly around.  He was given a fresh bed shirt, the largest one Nureyev had packed.  Juno was more muscular than he was, smaller in stature but broader of shoulder.  He was lucky to find anything to fit him at all.

“Okay, to bed love.” and pressed a kiss into his curls, marveling at how easy the term of endearment slipped from his lips.  “You’ve got a doctor’s appointment in the morning.” 

“I- don’ want too-” Juno whined, but placidly allowed Nureyev to maneuver him to the mattress.  He curled on his good side, laying his head in the hollow point of Nureyev’s arm.  

Nureyev found himself hoping that this time, he would stay.  

In the morning- he’d see Juno treated and that would be that.  He ran his fingers along his back in a soothing fashion and fell asleep to his lady’s gentle breath.  

 It was that same breath that woke Nureyev some odd hours later-

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

The Last Word: Shirley Manson on Fighting the Patriarchy and How Patti Smith Inspires Her

The Garbage singer also talks racial justice, living for now, and why legacy is an inherently masculine concern

Almost as soon as Garbage’s self-titled debut blew up overnight in 1995, their singer, Shirley Manson, became aware of the patriarchy running the music industry. Even though she was the group’s focal point — belting dusky electro-rock songs about making sense of depression (“Only Happy When It Rains”) and taking pride in nonconformity (“Queer”) — she was still a woman fronting a band of men, one of whom, Butch Vig, had produced Nirvana’s Nevermind. Almost immediately, she felt as though her role in the group was being devalued — not by the guys she worked with, but externally.

“There was a lot of stuff written about me in the music press, and that’s when I started to realize how I’m being diminished, how, in some cases, I’m being completely eradicated from the narrative because I’m female and not a man,” she says now. “I was talked over by lawyers; I was ignored by managers. The list goes on. It’s boring and tedious; there’s no point in me moaning about it now, but certainly, that was my awakening.”

That revelation emboldened her to speak out about equality and she quickly became a feminist icon, using her platform to bring attention to human rights, mental health, and the AIDS crisis. All the while, she wrote inclusive hit songs with Garbage about androgyny and reproductive rights (“Sex Is Not the Enemy”). On Garbage’s great new album, No Gods No Masters, she grapples with racial injustice, climate change, the patriarchy, and her own self-worth. But as weighty as the subject matter is, she approaches each song in her own uniquely uplifting way.

“I don’t think really the record is serious, per se,” the singer, 54, says, on an early May phone call. “I think it’s an indignant record. I think in indignance you can still carry humor with you, as well as softness, kindness, and love in your heart. I just felt it would be inauthentic to say anything other than what I was saying in my daily life across the dinner table from my friends and my family. I think as you get older as an artist, the challenge is, ‘How I can be my most authentic self?’ because that’s the most unique story I can tell. In an industry that’s just absolutely jam-packed to the rafters with ideas, opinions, melodies, and so on, you can’t afford to be anything other than your most authentic self. It won’t last.”

Authenticity and being true to herself are the qualities that have made Manson who she is. And those traits seem to guide her answers to Rolling Stone’s questions about philosophy, life lessons, and creature comforts for our Last Word interview.

What are the most important rules that you live by? I’m 54, which is ancient for the contemporary music industry. At this point, I feel like if it’s not fun, then I’m uninterested entirely. If somebody’s treating me poorly, I have to walk away. Life is so fricking short, and I’m three quarters of the way through mine already; I just want to have a good life, full of joy.

Who are your heroes and why? Patti Smith is a huge hero for me for a lot of different reasons. Most importantly, it’s because she’s a woman who has navigated her creative life so beautifully and so artfully, with such integrity and authenticity, and she has proven to me that a woman, an artist, does not have to subscribe to the rules of the contemporary music industry.

It’s very rare for other women to see examples of women actually working still in their seventies. That, to me, is really thrilling and really inspiring, and it fills me with hope. At times when you come up against the ageism, sexism, and misogyny that exists in our culture, I always try and picture Patti in my mind’s eye, and it always brings me back to center, like, “OK, adhere to your own rules. Design your own life. Be your own architect. You can continue to be an artist the rest of your life.” And to me, that’s life. That is a fully lived life.

You’re also a role model yourself. How do you handle that responsibility? I’m a bit speechless if the truth be told. I realize that I’ve now enjoyed a long career in music, and by default, I think people are inspired by that. I think whenever you see an artist, no matter who they are, when someone can endure, I think that’s exciting to everybody else, because it’s a message that says, “You too can get up when you think you’re done. You too can brush yourself off and try again.” By just continuing, you can help other people continue and fulfill themselves in ways that they thought they wouldn’t be able to.

I try to be a decent person. I make mistakes. I fuck people off. I say stupid shit. I’m not all-knowing; I am ignorant in so many ways. But I do try my best. I think that’s really all I can ask of myself.

How others perceive me is absolutely out of my control. There’s always going to be people who think I’m an arsehole, and that’s just part and parcel of being in the public eye. People are just going to hate on you, so I try not to take too much of it in; I don’t let it absorb me too much. I have gotten to that point in my life when I’m able to just go, “You know what? Fuck it. You can’t win them all.”

You once said that the idea of legacy was a masculine construct that you don’t believe in. Do you still feel that way? Yeah. I still very much believe in that. I know a lot of male artists who bang on about their legacy and their importance. Not to knock that if that’s what’s important to you but for me personally, what do I care? I’m going to be dead and gone and totally unconscious of any so-called legacy that I might leave behind. I want fun now. I want to have a good life now. I want to eat good food now and have great sex. It’s absolutely meaningless to me what happens after I’m gone. I want to use my time wisely, and that’s all that I really am concerned with, to be honest.

What is it about legacy that’s inherently masculine? This is armchair psychology, so please forgive me, but I’m sure it has something to do with how women have this uterus that can bear children. I think that’s profound. One of the few gifts that men have not been given is that ability to create with your body, and your blood, and your heat and all these nutrients from your body. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why you don’t hear as many women banging on about the great legacy they’re going to leave behind. I think for women it’s their kids.

You’re Scottish. What is the most Scottish thing about you these days? I’ve got a lot of grit, and it’s served me really well in my career. I think that is a really Scottish trait. The Scottish people are tough, and they also have a good sense of humor. So, grit with humor. I should say “gritted with humor,” in the same way we grit roads.

As you were saying “grit,” it occurred to me that a lot of your songs are about survival and moving forward, going back to “Stupid Girl” or “Only Happy When It Rains.” They’re about perseverance. [Pauses] I think it’s funny you should say that because I’m just sort of like, “Wow, he might be right.” I do think that a huge theme for me is, “How do you overcome? How do we all overcome?” Things can be great for a while; things will not be great forever. And to every single life, these challenges appear. We all have to reconfigure ourselves in order to try to hurl ourselves over obstacles in order to have the kind of life we hope for. So I do think you’ve shocked me a little by discovering a theme for me. Yay, I feel thrilled. I have a theme. It’s exciting.

“Waiting for God” is one of my favorite songs on the album because of the way you address racial justice. How can we, as a society, fight white indifference? You know, that’s a question right there. It’s interesting that you use the words “white indifference,” because one of the things that shocked me so greatly is the ambivalence and the apathy of white people all over the world who are seeing what we’re seeing on our TVs and on the internet, and yet not having the moral courage to speak up. I think the most important thing we can do is pull back the carpet to see the mess on the floor in order for us to actually start cleaning it up.

If we could curtail some of the brutality of police against black people, that would be a good start. I think it’s going to be decades and decades and decades before we can start to really equalize our societies so that everyone is enjoying the spoils of Western wealth over in the developing world. It’s necessary that we try and help these countries that aren’t as powerful or as wealthy. It’s good for the whole world if we start to improve situations for everyone. Nobody will lose anything, and everyone has everything to gain.

But if I had the answers to how we go about fixing it, I would be in politics and not in music. I just know what I believe to be right, and I’m doing my best to use my voice to try and encourage my friends, my little ecosystem, to start with paying attention and supporting black businesses and elevating black voices and black talent.

What’s your favorite book? I have so many. The one that springs to mind would be American Pastoral by Philip Roth. I loved All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. I loved The Collected Works of Billy the Kid by Michael Ondaatje. I loved Winnie the Pooh and Wuthering Heights. I’ve got so many that have really stuck with me that are classics.

My most favorite recent book that I’ve just finished reading is Dancer by Colum McCann about [Russian ballet dancer Rudolf] Nureyev. I was just absolutely mesmerized by it. It was just such a fantastic read, and he’s such a miraculous writer. He brought out Apeirogon last year about the struggle in between Palestine and Israel. He talks about this complicated mess with such clarity, kindness, and generosity. I couldn’t believe Apeirogon didn’t get more fuss made of it last year. Somehow it just seemed to get buried in the morass of other books, and of course the suffering that Covid had brought upon the earth.

What advice do you wish you could give your younger self? “Take up your space.” When I was growing up, to be a girl was to be told to minimize the space you took up: “Close your legs. Don’t be loud. Smile. Be cute. Be attractive. Be pleasing.” I inherently balked against that as a kid. I was a rebellious kid, and I wasn’t going to sit in the corner and be quiet. I’ve never been like that. However, looking back, I still notice some of the patterns of my own compliance. It’s not that I hate myself for it, but I just wish I could turn around and say to my young self, “Take your seat. If there’s not a seat there, drag a seat up to the table and sit down.”

I’m still really aware of the sexism and misogyny that I have had to battle throughout my career. I’m not crying, “Woe is me,” because I’ve obviously flourished in my career, and it obviously didn’t hold me back enough to hamper me in any way. But I feel for all the women who were unlike me, who didn’t have my forcefulness of personality, or my education, or my ability to articulate myself. I want that for all people, though; I want all people to stop trying to please, and accept that some people will like that, and some people won’t, and that’s OK. It’s OK that some people just don’t dig you.

On the topic of gender, I got a kick out of your song “Godhead,” where you ask if people would treat you differently “if I had a dick.” I’m really proud of that song, because I think it’s talking about something really serious, and it’s really fun. It’s about addressing the patriarchy, and how omnipresent it is. When I was young, I was so busy trying to make it, I didn’t see that there was a patriarchy in place. And it’s only as an adult, I start looking back going, “Oh, wow — when that A&R man told me to my face that he wanked over pictures of me, that was really uncool.” But at the time, you kind of laugh it off and just press on.

I was oblivious to it. In this song, I’m talking about how patriarchy bleeds into absolutely everything, specifically under organized religion. The “Godhead” is the male, and we are all under the godhead forever, and that’s unquestioned, and how crazy is that? Because a dude holds a higher position in society, because he’s got a dick and a pair of balls. Often, these balls are smaller than my own [laughs].

It just gets silly after a while, when you watch other men protect other men just for the sake of protecting the patriarchy. So few men are willing to speak up about bro culture and call into question the behavior of the men they are associated with. There’s just a reluctance by men to address this absolutely shocking, terrifying, depressing, pathetic assault by men of other people’s bodies.

In 1996, your bandmate Butch Vig said about you, “So many singers screamed to convey intensity, and she does the opposite. It just blew us away.” How did you come up with that approach? I don’t know. I’ve found that when people speak to me quietly, I feel the most threatened because I’m really comfortable with conflict. I thrive on conflict. It excites me in a funny way. When people are shouting, I don’t feel scared. I like to shout back; that’s just how my family were. We’d just start to shout at each other all the time. I’m not scared of elevated temper. For me, when people get really quiet, that’s when I know they’re really serious, because they’re in control of their rage, and that’s when they’re most deadly.

The last question I have is a shallow one. I love being cheap and superficial.

What’s the most indulgent purchase you’ve ever made? At the height of my success, I hired a person who would shop for me and then send everything in a big box to my hotel room. I would choose what I wanted and return anything else. One day, this beautiful pair of Italian leather boots arrived. I wore a pair very similar in the “Stupid Girl” video, and I thought, “Oh, yeah, these are really me. I’m going to keep these. These are amazing.” It was only when I got back from tour, I found out they cost $5,000. I can’t even laugh about it. It makes me so crazy. I still have these boots. I’d like to get rid of them just so that I never have to look at them again, but there they are every day, warning me of my own greed.

[shuttymcshutfuck]

I get it now that it’s too late, I never stopped feeling guilty (Chapter one)

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast (Junoverse)

Type: Angst (with a happy ending in chapter two)

Word count: 1,136 

Relationships: Past Jupeter, Peter Nureyev and OC (OC is barely in the story)

TW: honestly it’s just angst, alcohol

Ao3 link / chapter 2

Juno never expected to see Peter aboard the Carte Blanche, especially not with another man.

inspired by "Green" by Cavetown. 

Chapter one is just angst and can be read by itself, chapter two is a happy ending to chapter one and you need to read chapter one to know whats going on.

When Juno saw Nureyev he was shocked to say the least. He was there, really there in front of him. But someone else was there too. They sat side by side on the hood of the Ruby 7, Peter’s arm around this mysterious man's waist. Juno almost threw up. He managed to act normal, saying hello to his new crew. It was only once they lifted off that Nureyev even noticed him. 

 “Peter” Juno breathed. His heart was pounding out of his chest and he wanted to rip it out. Though it felt like someone had beat him to it. 

 “Juno, it’s been a while.” Juno could see Peters sharp teeth poke through his smile. He cast his eyes to the ground, wondering if he was dreaming and there wasn’t really a tall lean figure standing next to Nureyev, holding his hand. 

 “I suppose I should introduce myself, my name is Elias.” Juno looked up at them both, feeling a sharp pain in his chest. The way Peter looked at Elias, it was the same way that Peter looked at him- used to look at him. It was a look of pride and love and so many other things and it was only now that Juno realised how much he missed Peter looking at him like that. 

 “I’m sure Peter’s mentioned me at some point so-” He was caught off guard when Elias interrupted.

 “He hasn’t actually. Do you two know each other well?” Juno wanted the ground to swallow him up right there and then. He wanted to shout at Peter and ask him what the hell was going on but he knew he couldn't, not now anyway.

 “Not really, Juno did a job with me a year or so ago. That’s all.” Juno stared at Peter in disbelief. He watched him look everywhere but him.

 “I’m gonna go find my room now, it was nice to meet you, Elias.” Juno headed down the hallway as fast as he could without looking suspicious. He picked what he thought was the room Buddy said was his, went inside and shut the door. His vision was blurred from the tears in his eye so he shut it and just sat against the door. He didn’t know how long he sat there. The next thing he knew there was a knock at the door.

 “Juno, dinner is ready and we’ve been waiting for you.” It was Jet, his monotone voice recognisable even though it was muffled slightly by the door.

 “I’m not really hungry, big guy. Just tell the crew to eat without me.” He couldn’t face the thought of having to sit and eat dinner with Elias, never mind Nureyev. Thankfully Jet was none the wiser.

 “If that’s what you wish. I’ll make sure to leave some for you in case you get hungry later.” Juno listened to Jet’s footsteps slowly get quieter as he moved down the hall until it was silent again. His body groaned as he stood up finally, putting his bag on his bed and starting to unpack. It's not like he had anything better to do. Once he was finished he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. What Nureyev said wouldn't leave his thoughts. That they didn’t really know each other. His brain started playing a slideshow of all the memories they had together. The first time he met Rex Glass, then Duke Rose. Then down in the tomb where he met the real Peter Nureyev, they were both so vulnerable and raw and hurt down there. He remembered the words he said to Peter when he thought he was about to die, the wonderful night they shared together. Then he remembered how he left. He left, not Nureyev. This was his fault. Juno had never been so thankful that he’d packed a bottle of whiskey in with his things. He ended up draining a third of the bottle before he was out for the count. 

 In the morning things still hurt, but at least he could focus on his headache rather than the aching in his chest. Seeing everyone at breakfast didn’t help. He had managed to grab a cup of coffee and headed back to his room mostly unnoticed though, managing to avoid conversation. He really wasn’t in the mood to see anyone.

 A few days passed like this aboard the Carte Blanche. Juno mostly hid in his room, grabbing leftovers of meals after he was sure no one would be around. He had managed to avoid Peter and Elias completely. He was in the kitchen heating up his dinner when Peter walked in. They both danced around each other in silence. Juno told himself he was fine with that but apparently Nureyev wasn’t.

 “Are you ever going to talk to me?” Juno looked up at him. He looked just like the last night they shared together. Maybe in another universe, Juno could go up to him and kiss him. Peter would hold him close and it would be like he never left. Instead of dancing around each other, they would be dancing together to music playing from Peter’s coms. He could wake up each morning next to him. But Juno left and he couldn’t change that. It was just a fantasy though and he knew it.

 “Do I have to? You barely know me after all. We only did a job together. It’s not like we kissed, or we confessed our love to each other before I almost died trying to save you. It’s not like I know your real name. That’s all.” Juno could feel his emotions welling up inside of him and he was too tired to stop it.

 “But you still left, Juno! You never even said goodbye. Why am I the bad guy for moving on?!” 

 “I don’t know! I just- I thought what we had meant more than that. I’m sorry for leaving and believe me when I say that I’ve regretted it ever since. I never- I never stopped thinking about you, Peter.” Juno felt the tears drip from his face. He watched Peter move towards the door, some small part of Juno begging for him to stop..

 “It’s too late, Juno. You’re too late.” He watched Peter leave, his hand outstretched like it would stop him. Like Nureyev would run back into his arms at the sight of it. Juno’s legs gave way as he let himself sob once he knew Nureyev couldn’t hear him, clutching his t-shirt like a lifeline. After god knows how long, Juno managed to find his legs and shuffle back to his room. He’d ran out of tears by now but his chest still ached with the thought of Peter Nureyev. He collapsed into his bed and wondered why he left him in the first place.

[this-is-a-podcast-fanblog]

PENUMBRA LIVE

I just got home from seeing Juno Steel and the Train From Nowhere Live, and I have SO MANY EMOTIONS AND THOUGHTS AND THINGS I WANT TO TELL YOU GUYS 

so full reaction under the cut. Obviously, massive spoilers for the live show, so don’t read if you plan on buying the recording and want to experience it for the first time that way. 

Something you guys should know: AS I WROTE THIS, Alice Chuang (whom I met at the show) DM’ed me on Twitter and we have been chatting back and forth for a while now, I am LITERALLY TEXTING ALICE CHUANG AS I WRITE THIS. 

Okay. Holy cow. First of all, the obvious: the show was amazing, the actors were all crazy talented, the energy of the crowd was great, I had a fantastic time and am so happy I went. The music, sound, and lights were really cool, minimalist, but conveyed the show tone beautifully. 

And THE COSTUMES!! Not sure who picked them, but they were perfect. Joshua had the same trench coat/white shirt/jeans combo from the last liveshow, but for Dahlia Rose he wore a lacy white blazer that also had pink flowers on it. It looked very good on him and his face when Juno says “You bought me clothes?!” was hysterical. Engstrom and Valencia were elegant and totally creepy. M Sutherland had a red and grey suit and waistcoat; he also had eye makeup but it was a little more subtle. Valencia was in a gorgeous shiny red dress and lounge singer black gloves up to her elbows. Those were all cool, but nothing is EVER gonna top Noah’s Nureyev outfit, which was a pair of black pants, white shirt, black tie, and a black and white striped corset with the tie tucked into it. You may be thinking, “oh, HG, that just sounds like a waistcoat” nope!!!! It was like actually a corset! He also had killer eyeliner. For most of the show he wore a black blazer, but as Duke Rose he wore this crazy glittery golden blazer covered in sequins. It was gaudy and he rocked it, it suited Duke so perfectly! 

Those four made up the main cast, but there were two other actors - first of all, Kate Jones, obviously, as Miasma. She had ghostly white makeup and covered her face and head with a white shawl. That, plus the fact that the lights turned red whenever she stepped on stage, made the perfect creepy vibe. She had a lot more lines in this than the original - Juno would refer to her voice in his head a lot, and every time, she came out and said something creepy. She was on a little raised stage behind the rest of the cast so she was glaring down at him and it was just asdggkfj;fldj a it was so cool. 

Then there was another cast member I totally did not anticipate - Melissa DeJesus (Quanyii) played the Ruby7! She also worked props, so when Juno was talking about Nureyev’s coat, she held it up, when the bell rang during the card game she rang it, and she also played Miasma’s assistant pointing the gun at Nureyev (it was a cardboard rifle, they also used it when Juno had to shoot out of the car). For the Ruby7 she held a steering wheel and stood in front of Joshua and Noah making the car noises into a microphone or with a whistle. Also she had a necklace shaped like a license place that said “Ruby7″. It was such a cute way to show the car, which some of you may remember was something I was speculating wildly about when I first bought the ticket. Every time Nureyev mentioned how great the Ruby7 was she would vamp and at one point she blew him a kiss and he blew one back it was so adorable.

i’ve been typing for a half hour and I haven’t even gotten into the actual show yet

Before the show even started, there was amazing energy. I bought two posters from Kat Buckingham, who was working the merch stand, found a great seat, chatted with the people sitting near me, and just felt the excitement. There were so many amazing costumes, and like a third of people were wearing ear cuffs with chains in honor of Peter (I was among this number). Kevin Vibert made some announcements about emergency exits and whatnot, and then the lights dimmed. There were two curtains on opposite sides of the performance area, Joshua and Noah FLIPPED OPEN the curtains on different sides and just did this power walk to the mics in the middle while all of us audience members screamed and cheered for a solid minute, it was glorious. 

Almost immediately I noticed a change to the script - they added a subplot about an additional Martian artifact Miasma had stolen, called the Key of something I don’t know how to spell, which apparently locks away any concept, like locking away sound around a person (this was revisited during the assassin bit). When Nureyev mentioned the key Juno said something like, “Wait, I don’t think that’s how this is supposed to happen” which was a cute way to acknowledge the changes they were making. Then he started mentioning some Season 2 stuff (”I dreamed I only had one -” “We all  only have one life, detective!”) and Nureyev cut him off and then launched into a recap of the events of 2Murderous2Mask. He brought up audience members to reenact it, and it was really funny and I loved it a lot. 

One of my favorite changes was that a couple of times when Juno was internally monologuing, Nureyev would be there too. At one point Juno acknowledged it like, “I do this thing where I just talk, and usually it’s just me.” Nureyev was really energetic, Noah got super into those parts and would take the mic down from the stand and be gesturing and hopping around while Juno watched. They also went into a lot more detail about the Throne of Arkuthusis (I probably spelled that wrong) and Samantha Carthwright (now called Sammy), who was played by an audience member. Juno explained that anyone who sat in the chair could have infinite knowledge and people would ask them questions. Nureyev then asked the audience member a bunch of questions in different accents which A.) was really funny B.) was crazy because apparently Noah can do an insane range of accents C.) cute because Juno just let him do it for a while before cutting him off. It had a very “petulant married life” vibe when Nureyev shared Juno’s monologues, and I’m not sure if it was supposed to be some significant commentary that Nureyev was “in Juno’s head” or just fun staging. Either way, I loved it. 

For the card game, there were a few changes. Engstrom asked Juno if he knew how to play Rangian Street Poker and Nureyev-as-Duke said “Don’t say no!” through his teeth right as Juno said “nope.” and then an explanation followed. After a while Juno lost track and got annoyed and before Engstrom could get mad back or explain the whole thing again Nureyev-as-Duke covered Juno’s mouth with his hand and then when he pulled his hand away he fucking caressed Juno’s cheek with his knuckles while Juno glared at him and the audience went feral. 

Hey by the way Noah Simes? Is just fucking incredible like his mannerisms as Duke were so over-the-top but amazing, when he reverted back to Nureyev there was an IMMEDIATE shift just in the way he talked and the way he stood, like with Duke everything was all exaggerated and he drew out all the “you’s” (So in the phone call he basically went “See youuu SooooOOOOnN!!! :D”) but then for Nureyev he was a lot more reserved, and he had this smug little half smirk for most of it. Just like, what does it feel like to be that talented, wish I could relate. 

They didn’t actually play cards, but Noah did rip a piece of paper to be the dueling wargoats card. Even so, the tension was strong and you could feel the suspense even if (like me) you knew exactly what was coming next. Also, I forgot to mention, there were a lot of sound effects! When Juno heard someone’s thoughts (he heard Valencia’s and Nureyev’s a few times) that would be a voiceover, the train noises were all played, gunshots, etc. The assassin wasn’t actually shown, but you could hear the voiceover for that as well. 

You’re all probably wondering: THE DOODLES. They were actual crumpled balls of paper that Juno pulled out of Nureyev’s coat; later when they were back in the hotel room, Nureyev took off his jacket and said he was going to bed (Noah just kinda stood there with his eyes closed) and Juno threw one of the notes at his head and literally went “Nyeh” as he threw it. We all laughed for quite a while. 

Jupeter jumping through garbage chutes was great, Noah sort of pushed Joshua and then they pantomimed jumping down - but apparently I’m supposed to believe that Peter backflipped into the garbage chute, from the way Noah gestured, and I’m HERE FOR THAT, he’s just that much of an extra bitch. (Nureyev was very much an extra bitch throughout this entire show, as you know if you have ever listened to The Penumbra Podcast).

The whole getaway chase was awesome. Not sure if I mentioned this yet, but they had one mic that could be taken away from the stand and walked around, which is how they did the phone calls, the person on the other end of the line would stand off to the side with the wireless mic and perform like that. Once Juno, Nureyev, Valencia, and Engstrom got on the train they did all of those lines, but a nice new addition to the script was Valencia threatened Juno with a gun and Nureyev pushed Juno slightly behind him with a hand on his chest (actually I can’t remember if this scene happened here or in the casino, suffice it to say it happened and it was gay and wonderful) and said basically “if you even so much as warm his skin” and followed that up with a threat, I forget exactly what. Then when Nureyev pumped the brakes of the train he grabbed Juno and pulled him to one side, and Valencia and Engstrom’s actors left. 

For the tight room they ducked into to hide, Noah and Joshua sort of pressed together back to back and tilted the mic stands so they were still able to talk into the mic. There was a great line where Juno said something like, “Is there a reason why you keep shoving us into tight spaces together?” and then they got out and Noah took the wireless mic and went up to one of the curtains on the side of the stage, then he sort of fell through with a shout and Juno was locked in the room with Valencia. She took the other wireless mic and circled him, which was soooo creepy and really cool, especially with the moody lighting they had over the whole scene. When Juno pretended to faint Joshua just like,,,, threw up his arms and dropped to the floor in the most dramatic swoon possible it was great, and when Valencia died she fell through the curtain on the side of the stage and someone caught her. 

The showdown with Engstrom was tense and great. M Sutherland has a great presence and because he’s really fucking tall he seemed very menacing next to Jupeter (especially earlier when they were in their crazy suits and he was just all polished). With his suit and beard and eyeliner he sort of looked like a younger president Snow ala The Hunger Games, perfect villain vibes. Nureyev did the whole pin-him-by-the-arms thing as Juno described it in his monologue and oh god Noah did the most PERFECT fox smile throughout the whole thing, but what’s weird is I can’t actually remember how Engstrom’s death went?? I assume he fell through the curtain but I just,,, genuinely can’t remember?

Right after that they seemed to have a technical issue with the train sound effects so Joshua and Noah adlibbed it for a few seconds, then it started working again and they grabbed each other’s arms and did the whole jump-off-the-train thing. When Juno asked where the Ruby7 was, Melissa DeJesus came out with her arms tied in ropes, I guess to show the car had been captured and then BOOM KATE JONES AS MIASMA. She’s so scary and intimidating, and her voice sounds even cooler live than on the show. 

Then!!! The gun is pointed at Nureyev!!! and oh god Noah’s face in this scene first he looked a little panicked, but then resigned, and the lights went BACK AND FORTH BACK AND FORTH from regular to Juno’s monologue, and this super scary layered clip of Miasma saying “I will have what I want” played and oh god it was just so totally incredible and I loved it and by that point I was aware the show was about to end but I never wanted it to, I wanted to sit there and watch this forever, and I knew I couldn’t which made me a little sad. 

and oh wow wow wow...

then we got to the part where they got in the car, and Juno had his monologue, and Nureyev was watching him for the whole thing with the sweetest loving smile on his face, and then he told Juno not to give up on him yet and then Noah and Joshua reached into the space between the microphones and took each other’s hands, so they were holding hands and the crowd went WILD. Obviously this episode didn’t have a kiss, but the ROMANCE of that moment was just PEAK it was so freaking phenomenal, and when Miasma said the whole “There it is, your final resting place,” they didn’t even look at it, for a while they were just looking at each other for a few long seconds, and then they both turned to look at the tomb and they just stood there holding hands looking ahead all resigned and determined, and then the lights went down and it was over. 

(the cutest thing about the whole hand holding though was Noah kept glancing over like either he was trying to show Peter’s intense desire to hold Juno’s hand or else he wasn’t sure when he was supposed to grab Joshua’s hand and he was trying to make sure they did it at the same time. Either way it was sweet and looked really good.) 

They did the curtain call, I screamed so loudly for each actor, and then anyone who wanted to meet the cast went and lined up in the hallway outside the theater. The staircase by this hallway was also the staircase into the bar, so all the bar and restaurant, so all the restaurant patrons were very baffled to see the Penumbra-goers in our cosplays, (and me wearing the pride flag around my shoulders.) While I waited to meet with the cast I got to chat with Kat Buckingham! I also talked to her when I bought merch, and I told her I thought she was talented - she said “I bet YOU’RE really talented!” and I almost cried, then she told me I was free to DM her, also encouraged me when I told her about my podcast, and was all around just the sweetest. 

The cast were at a table, sort of like a convention, and we just went down the line and got our stuff signed. I got to talk to all of the actors and they were SO! VERY! SWEET! I hadn’t thought at all about what I was gonna say, so I just kind of mentioned whatever. I told Noah that I write Jupeter fanfiction and said, “So that means I have your voice in my head a lot”, and he said like “That’s... somewhat unusual to hear, as I’m sure you can imagine.” I told him he was really talented and he signed my poster and was very friendly, thanked me for coming even though literally I was thanking him because HOLY FUCK HE WAS SO AMAZING. Also, Kate Jones asked me what my shirt said (it said “I am too emotionally attached to fictional characters” and thought that was cool. 

I told Joshua, Sophie, and Kevin that this podcast inspired me to start my own podcast, and they were so incredibly encouraging and supportive about that! Joshua asked if I had fun (as if I could have not had fun!) and thanked me for coming - like both of these amazingly talented stars of this hit show are thanking me for coming to see them, that’s so humble and kind and ugh I just stan this cast so much. @rudzik-art made some amazing artwork, which I turned into prints to give to Sophie and Kevin, and they really loved it! Sophie even signed both my poster and the one I got for Robin, even though their rule said only one item per person. Then they both thanked me for coming, and I headed out to catch my train home.

Overall, this show was phenomenal. There was only one thing in the whole production that I disliked: they took out the “It’s not polite to tell someone his gift means nothing to you” line, and I’m not really sure why, because that line forms a lot about the characters? But artists’ choice, of course. Personally, I would have loved to see it, but the pacing was just as good without it. 

I’ve been looking forward to this for so long, and now that’s it’s over I’m experiencing some pretty strong post-show depression, not gonna lie. I just want to come back and see it again every night for the rest of my life, even though that would not be good for the cast. I want to go out and make art and share my work and maybe someday inspire someone anywhere near as much as this inspired me. 

TL;DR THE LIVE SHOW WAS FUCKING INCREDIBLE. 

If you weren’t able to make it to either live show and you have some questions about it, feel free to send them to my inbox!

[thinkingdelicately]

❤️ cover art: @hemaris​

part one: falling in love

sweet disposition / the temper trap

so stay there / ‘cause i’ll be coming over / and while our blood’s still young / it’s so young, it runs / and won’t stop ‘til it’s over / won’t stop to surrender

so i, uh, took him back to my place.

movement / hozier

when you move / i can recall somethin' that's gone from me / when you move / honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free

even his smile is unbefitting for a thief. it’s so naive. with every flicker of feeling, that smile shifts, daring a confident second in the sun, then hiding away behind his lips, then peeking again. you can read a man’s soul with a smile like that, can see his every hope and fear and love.

pink in the night / mitski

i glow pink in the night in my room / i've been blossoming alone over you...and i know i’ve kissed you before / but i didn’t do it right / can i try again try again try again / and again and again and again

you know, juno, call me a fool if you like, but i think i may have fallen in love with you.

run away with me / carly rae jepsen

packing a bag, we're leaving tonight when everyone's sleeping, sleeping / let's run away, i'll run away with you / 'cause you make me feel like i could be driving you all night / and i'll find your lips in the street lights / i wanna be there with you

it could be so simple. you can leave hyperion city behind; i’ll leave my powerful friends behind. we'll sell the mask and live a life of thrills and decadence across the galaxy, always running, never looking back. we could have quite a time together, juno. who knows what kind of trouble we could cause.

fuck em only we know / banks

i know exactly just how many kisses fit between your eyes / i'd run away, i'd run away if you would join with me / oh i could be a little grumpy, but hold on / just wanna tell you that i see you, baby, do you see me?

you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me...you make me feel like maybe it’s all worth it. like maybe there’s something out there worth seeing.

just like heaven / the cure

i'll run away with you...you, soft and only / you lost and lonely / you, strange as angels / dancing in the deepest oceans, twisting in the water / you're just like a dream

his face was lean, but soft, with a cherub's smile and a fox's teeth. he looked like he was happy to see me and like he'd be just as happy to kill me if push came to shove. it wasn't unpleasant, all things considered.

part two: falling apart

gunshot / lykke li

and the shot goes through my head and back / gunshot, can't take it back / my heart cracked, really loved you bad / gunshot, i'll never get you back

i am alone. i will not forget that again.

seasons (waiting on you) / future islands

as it breaks, the summer will warm / but the winter will crave what has gone, will crave what has all gone away / i've been waiting on you

because the future can wait. that is all the future is, in fact: moments in wait, time whose time has not yet come. and in fact, if you are disciplined enough, the future can wait indefinitely.

a little lost / sufjan stevens

oh i'm a little lost without you / that may be an understatement / and i hope your feeling hasn't gone / i hope you need somebody in your life / someone like me / ‘cause i'm so busy, i'm so busy / thinking ‘bout kissing you / i’m so busy, i’m so busy / thinking ‘bout touching you

i said i needed you.

supercut / lorde

so i fall into continents and cars / all the stages and the stars / i turn all of it to just a supercut / 'cause in my head (in my head, i do everything right) / when you call (when you call, i'll forgive and not fight) / because ours (are the moments I play in the dark) / we were wild and fluorescent, come home to my heart

i just keep thinking about that night, and there was this second in the doorway, and it lasted so long i feel like part of me’s still there...

night shift / lucy dacus

i feel no need to forgive but i might as well / but let me kiss your lips so i know how it felt / pay for my coffee and leave before the sun goes down / walk for hours in the dark feeling all hell

walking into the same trap twice...i wouldn’t be here if i had any other options. you got me? (oh, i got you, juno.) that’s what scares me.

pristine / snail mail

i could be anyone but i’m so entwined / and out of everyone / who’s on your mind? / no more changes / i’ll still love you the same

i thought i was done with him, but...i’m not.

no promises / san fermin

hey honey, are you giving up? / hey honey, you look a little tired now / i won't promise you if you follow me around / i won't let you down, i won't let you down / been wandering, who's to say if we'll be found / no promises, no promises

wish i had that much faith in me. feels like you could fix the whole damn galaxy, with someone looking at you that way.

part three: falling together

tattoo / kevin abstract

they say I threw my life away / no shit, I threw my life away...told a lie and i’m sorry / let me make it up at the football game / pick you up in the morning...who was i when i was lonely?

i really want to get better, maybe for the first time in my life...and i'm just so scared that it's too late and everyone’s already smartened up and gone.

come into the water / mitski

i didn't know i had a dream / i didn't know until I saw you / so would you tell me if you want me? / ‘cause i can't move until you show me

you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me...you make me feel like maybe it’s all worth it. like maybe there’s something out there worth seeing.

still into you / paramore

i should be over all the butterflies / but i'm into you, i’m into you / and baby even on our worst nights / i'm into you, i'm into you...yeah after all this time / i'm still into you

it’d take weeks for that smell to fade. i’ve missed it ever since.

don’t delete the kisses / wolf alice

a few days pass since i last saw you / and you have taken over my mind / i'm re-telling jokes you made that made me laugh / pretending that they're mine

he’s been...partnered with a super thief who he finds quite distracting.

if one of us wasn’t so distracting (a vision in gold and light)

do you / spoon

do you want to get understood? / oh, do you want one thing or are you looking for sainthood? / do you run when it's just getting good?

i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i just keep hurting people one after the other and i just have to think it’s all for something, y’know? it’s all gonna be worth it.

utopia / lykke li

i see the dream in your eyes and i want it / it's burning bright like a fire from a comet / if there's a bomb in your heart i'll disarm it / if you want it then i want it / we could be utopia, utopia

nureyev sleeps deeply, like someone who knows the tomorrow he’s waking up to will be worth showing up for. lying next to him, i feel that way too. and suddenly, desperately, i want to chase a future of that feeling every single day. with him.

show you / baby rose

tell me, baby, how you like me now? / god, i'm hurting for you, there's no easy way out / if i knew then all the things i know now, now / so many things i gotta say, but i wanna show you / so many words get in the way, but i wanna show you

show your heart through your deeds

all in / sun airway

and you think you know me / you know me all right / all in faith, all in good time / once you said you loved me / you never said it twice / all in good faith, all in good time

that name is very nearly my only weakness. and i’m risking it all—here, on you.

sea of love / cat power

come with me my love / to the sea, the sea of love / i wanna tell you how much i love you

i meant every word I said, juno. it will be quite an adventure. i'll be waiting for you to join me.

❤️ i recommend listening in order, but i also recommend living your life ❤️

[nureyevv]

The Thief and The Secretary (...and the detective)

Juno Steel didn’t need to say he loved Rita. Sure, she got on his nerves from time to time but... she was also the most reliable person in his life. That had to mean something.

And Peter Nureyev? Well they’d finally patched things up, and yea, the situation still wasn’t perfect, but they were healing. Even just as a friend, it was intoxicating to have that eccentric, one of a kind man back in his life.

Those were two unwavering truths in a galaxy of uncertainty, but the reality of the first two statements did nothing to make the third fact any less prevalent.

Peter and Rita together? Seems good on paper, but in reality they produce a level of chaos previously unknown to man kind. In short, it was a lot.

So despite what Buddy and Vespa and Jet and... well all of them who said he was being to sensitive! He knew it was more than that.

Yea, maybe he was a bit put out when Rita turned to Peter instead of him to ramble about her shows. Yea, maybe he missed being Nureyev’s go to in a pinch— his partner in crime. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be rational. The two were a force to be reckoned with and he could prove it.

It started out innocent enough. Peter would paint Rita’s nails and do her make up. Rita would doodle on his arms with pens during mission briefings. And, of course, anything they did together seemed completely adorable— honestly the two could have robbed a person stupid and they wouldn’t even know. They’d be too caught up in how Nureyev stood two feet taller than Rita and she’d still found a way to snatch his glasses from his face.

The dynamic was simply too powerful and too unstable.

The thing about Rita was, no matter how level headed a person was, it was hard to say no to her. Even when Juno managed to be blunt with her it still felt like there might have been a bit of a yes in there. The thing about Nureyev was, despite his cool analytical demeanor, the man had a little crazy genius in him waiting to be let out.

They also both had a fondness for drama

This combination was nothing less than devastating.

Two weeks on the ship together and Rita had found that it was impossible to make enough popcorn for everyone on the ship with their microwave. Not enough space for that many bags. Now, if it were Juno he would have just taken turns. Sure it would have taken longer, but there was the same end result

Rita though... Rita wasn’t that patient. But she was also very smart. Smart enough to known the ships energy production system reached about the same temperature as the microwave, and smart enough to know how to get six bags of popcorn there.

And Nureyev? Well Nureyev was just slippery enough to get those bags where they needed to be.

Long story short, the ship had smelled of popcorn for weeks— not to mention Nureyev had nearly lost his eyebrows on the trip back down when one of the bags caugh aflame.

Juno liked those eyebrows, too.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how two certified geniuses could get into so much trouble. And figuring things out was quite literally his job.

They talked about him too. Nothing bad he supposed, but it was still... frustrating.

Like- like he’ll be minding his own business and Nureyev will mention his pocket toothpaste, unprovoked

It’s none of his business if Juno liked to have emergency access to toiletries? It was sanitary!

And besides, Nureyev had pockets full of junk from the outer rim to the sun and back. He had no room to judge!

Oh, and, of course, there was the peter and Rita movie nights

Rita had just about every show in existence downloaded onto her comms long before they left mars, but the biggest screen on the ship was in the public sitting area just off from the kitchen.

Ever since the two of them had started hanging around each other it seemed like they were always watching something new. With Rita, it made sense. She’d been addicted to shows as long as he’d known her. Peter, though? Juno couldn’t see the appeal of watching a bunch of reruns for a master thief.

It didn’t matter— it was harmless in comparison to their popcorn related highjinks— and yet... well it was a lot of things.

Juno hadn’t got a good nights sleep in a couple days. THEIA was long gone, as was the misfigured shape as Miasma just before she was the victim of an unknowing suicide. He’d been moving on from all that, slowly but surely. In sleep, however, it was difficult to be in control of his mind.

When he closed his eyes he still heard voices sometimes, not exactly like when the Martian pill had still be in his head, but more of an echo of searching through others minds. He saw the face of Yasmin Swift and heard Ramses’s drawl. Bad dreams, that was all they were. He was never actually back in that blood sucking chair, but in the moment before he woke it sure felt like he was.

He was used to the nightmares— their intensity would fade and fluctuate in the months to come. He could handle that. For now he couldn’t help being a bit irritable. Lack of sleep always seemed to do that to him.

So sleep deprived asshole Juno was at the wheel when he stubbled across Nureyev and Rita having one of their usual movie nights a few days after they passed Saturn. Rita’s hair was in two tight braids, platted with Peter’s expert precision. Curlers were scattered across Nureyev’s own head, leaving Juno amazed that his hair was long enough to even hold them. They both sported green face masks that looked like just another skin care tip he didn’t know the first thing about. The biggest difference between the two was that Rita’s mask had pink salmon snack dust near the mouth.

“Y’ want wan?” Rita asked Peter, mouth stuffed full with crackers. Peter’s response came in the shape of a pained smile— one that said he’d fallen into that trap once and wouldn’t go back. He just had to find a way to put it nicely.

“I’m going to have to pass, unfortunately. I’d hate to deprive you your treat.”

Rita seemed to consider this and nod in agreement. “That’s a very good point, Mistah Petah”

By all means Juno could have just kept walking. The exchange was, admittedly, very sweet. With all his complaining, he had to say he was happy to see them both enjoying themselves. But then he caught sight of their film of choice.

Andromeda, the original. He knew the story well.

That was the last straw— Juno knew just about everyone in the galaxy had scene andromeda, but it felt... personal. Like they were watching his life story unfold on screen. It made his skin crawl, and, suddenly, he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know how this pair had gotten so close so fast. Some of the most impactful people in his life were gathered in that room. He had a right to know how it’s come to be.

“Alright. Fine. I’ll bite. Someone explain to me what’s going on here,” he snapped, harsher than he’d expected.

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “Just passing the time, detective.”

“That’s not what I— I mean when did this even happen?” He asked, gesturing vaguely at the two of them. How did I miss it his mind added, silently.

“It’s a small ship, Mistah Steel, we were bound to cross pathes eventually,” said Rita with significantly less snacks in her mouth. They looked at him with that look they both shared— the one that said, even though he was being an asshole, even though they’d make him apologize later, they were more worried about him for the time being. How could two people so incredibly different look at him the exact same way?

“Juno... are you alright?” Asked Nureyev when he didn’t answer. He wanted to be angry, to let himself fester in the self pity of being left out. But then again, it seemed almost natural now.

Of course— of course these two would get along. After all, if they could put up with him, they could probably put up with just about anyone.

If Juno was being honest, they were two stellar picks anyway

He let out a groan and collapsed onto the empty space on the couch right in between them. “I can’t understand what I’ve done to make you encourage her like this. I can’t stand this show.”

“Boss, weve been over this— just cause your taste is the absolute worst and you hate everything universally loved doesn’t mean everyone else feels the same way!”

Juno gave her an unconvinced look.

Nureyev chimed in: “actually, I have to agree with Miss Rita, I quite enjoy this— oh what was it called again?”

“Andromeda” answered Juno and Rita in unison.

“Ah, yes, Andromeda. We didn’t have anything like this in the outer rim.”

This seemed to catch Rita’s attention, her extensive movie knowledge kicking in. “Andromeda was a galaxy wide success, though. Surely you must have heard of it?”

There was a pause.

Juno knew Nureyev had never been in one place long enough to keep up with pop culture, and if he did stick around he wouldn’t have had the kind of spending money on him to see a movie. After that, he and Mag had been too busy trying to save the world to bother with things like that.

Rita, of course, hadn’t seen that side of Peter Nureyev. Juno thought he’d save him the trouble of explaining. “Rita the outer rim was ravaged by war. I doubt things work the same way they do on mars.”

This answer was enough to satisfy Rita. Nureyev, with a grateful half smile, nodded in agreement. “It’s a nice change of pace. I’m fond of this Andromeda, though. I can understand why she became to popular.”

Juno rolled his eyes while Nureyev continued. “Actually, now that I think of it, she reminds me a bit of you, detective.”

Rita snorted from beside him, finding the comparison immensely funny after all of Juno’s comments. She then descended into coughing, evidently having choked on one of her salmon crackers.

Juno... well he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He’d always seen Sarah Steel in Andromeda— in all of North Star’s shows, really— but ever since he had his eye removed things had been different. Not exactly better. Knowing what he did now wasn’t easy, but it also left a lot less room for being bitter over twenty year old mistakes.

And now that Peter pointed it out, he thought he could recognize a bit of his brother in Andromeda, too. They said to write what you know, and Sarah had known her boys, at least back then.

He glanced at Nureyev to his right and Rita to his left. A few months ago, thinking about the old days would have sent him spiraling into a whole abyss of Things He Didn’t Want To Think About. But now? He felt strangely ok.

“You know... it has been a while since I’ve seen it. Maybe I’ll stick around.”

Rita nearly spontaneously combusted at that sentence. Peter smiled softly in that knowing way. “You know, I believe I have an extra face mask, too, if that sounds alright.”

Juno thought that sounded pretty good.

[essekknits]

idk if the prompt things still open but... dragon peter nureyev? or more ben lives au bc that was so good

Okay, listen. You can’t just drop such a perfect prompt on me and expect me not to write the absolute shit out of it.

I love it so much this became a full fledged multi-chapter story I am planning to continue.

And here’s the link to it on AO3, if you want to follow!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684750/chapters/54219535

***

He didn’t know what he expected when he heard the clunking of metal, but a young knight in a beat up armour collapsed at his door wasn’t it.

Usually the knights that came to face him were older men, muscular and loud and full of brash courage and pompous self importance. This one wasn’t any of that. He was young and short, his armour and skin smeared with blood. He was also very, very unconscious.

What can one do when faced with a man like that besides helping him? He was intrigued, after all, and if there’s one thing dragons aren’t very good at it’s leaving the things they want.

You see, there are some misconceptions about dragons and their dwellings that people don’t seem to be able to get out of their heads.

First, dragons aren’t some mindless beasts. They aren’t the brutal, thoughtless disasters they were painted as in human culture. They were clever. Smart and quick and cultured. They had their own traditions, their music, their cultures. They were scholars, learned in magic and history and fighting. From a very young age they could shift their forms to more resemble those of humans, until they were able to hide among them.

Second, dragons didn’t live in musty stone caves filled with piles of gold like most would imagine. In fact, most dragons would be insulted at such thought. Dragon dens were the epitome of luxury, carved rooms in the inner caves covered with carpeted, decorated walls, bookcases, trinkets and knickknacks tastefully organised all around, with the brunt of the treasure in rooms properly made for that purpose. Dragons did love gold, but they also enjoyed beauty and comfort, and their dens reflected that.

The young dragon who was named Nureyev (or Peter, as his adoptive father used to call him before his death) picked up the young human in one clawed paw, clutching him close to his chest as he limped into the den. He charmed into existence a bed, human sized, complete with plush pillows and a soft, warm blanket. He lay the battered human in the bed, shifting into a more human form. He then grabbed some clean cotton and a bowl of water, and began cleaning his wounds, humming as he worked.

~~~

Juno didn’t expect to wake up feeling this warm. In fact, he didn’t expect to wake up at all. He hoped for a painless death, and instead got life and a dull ache where he should’ve felt the sharp bite of the steel that cut his skin and flesh. He kept his eyes shut, trying to get a feel for where he was. He fell unconscious at the mouth of a cave, and now… he could hear roaring flame, and soft steps, and the rustling of fabric.

“Good morning, sir knight. I hope you are feeling well.” A voice called, soft and deep and melodic. It was a voice Juno wouldn’t have minded waking up to every day, and wouldn’t have minded dying to either. The stranger already knew he was awake, so what did he have to lose?

He opened his eyes, and was stunned.

On a first glance, the man in front of him looked fairly normal, if extremely beautiful. He was tall and slim, with high cheekbones and dark hair. His clothes were a deep red fabric, heavy and rich and velvety, and he wore golden jewelry adorned with precious gemstones, mainly rubies and garnets.

But on a second glance, you started noticing that things weren’t as they seemed.

His eyes had an alarming colour, like molten gold, shining even over his extravagant jewels. His skin looked slightly more golden than was natural, like it perpetually captured the glow of the sunset. But it was his teeth that gave him away. Just a bit too sharp to be human, he had a smile that made him seem like he was happy to see him, and like he would be just as happy to kill him.

Luckily for Juno, this was not his first time meeting a dragon. Growing up, one of his best friends was a dragon, living in hiding among humans after their whole tribe was destroyed. But Sasha was very different from this man. She was cold, quiet and serious, with black hair and black eyes and small obsidian jewelry she could easily hide. In her dragon form, Sasha was still small and black, her dark scales shimmering in the light and her sleek form built for speed, like she was born to pierce the sky.

“What’s that, sir knight, lost your tongue?” The man chuckled, gracefully sitting on the bed besides Juno. Because it was a bed he was on, and he was covered with a soft blanket. This was… more comfort than he ever had, more or less. His wounds also seemed to have been bandaged, and he was stripped of his armour and left in his underclothes, a loose linen shirt and a knee length braie. He would be embarrassed if not for the immediate threat that was the dragon in front of him, expecting an answer.

“Uhhh, no. You didn’t get that lucky.” He retaliated quickly, earning a delighted chuckle from the dragon. “Thank to you. For your help.” Juno pulled himself up, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I was simply curious about the mysterious stranger who passed out at my door. May I know your name, now?” The dragon raised an eyebrow, and Juno barely hesitated to answer. He wasn’t a good enough liar to trick a dragon. Not to mention that he didn’t even really want to lie. Again, he didn’t have anything to lose.

“Juno. Juno Steel.” He answered, and the dragon chuckled.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful knight. My own, I’m afraid, isn’t quite so unique. Rex Glass, it’s a pleasure.” He licked his lips, eyeing Juno in a way that wasn’t all unpleasant. “But where are my manners, I forgot to even offer you water!” He laughed, charming a mug of water in front of Juno’s stare, offering it to him.

“Neat trick.” Juno took the mug, suspicious. He hesitated to drink.

“Oh please, I didn’t poison you, Juno. I took you in when you were unconscious, didn’t I? Dressed your wounds, looked after you… if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up.” Glass rolled his eyes.

“Not why I was hesitating.” Honestly, Juno wouldn’t have minded. “Just wondering if this is a transmutation or a summoning. Or something else entirely. Every person has a different way of getting the same thing done, and transmutated water tastes like dirt.” He put the mug to his mouth, drinking it all in one swig. He was really thirsty.

“Oh? A knight who dabbles in magic? This is something I haven’t seen yet.” Glass tilted his head, and Juno shook his head.

“Not much of a magician myself. Not much of a knight too, if we’re talking about it already. But thanks for the water. Definitely not transmuted.” He gave him a half smile, thinking of the people who he first learned of magic from. His thoughts briefly went to Sasha and her instinctive, meticulous magic, but they soon turned away from her, to his twin brother. Benzaiten’s magic was art, just like his dancing. Juno’s smile faded from his face, before he caught himself, shaking his head and returning his eyes to Rex. “So, how did you do it?” He asked, genuinely interested even if he was a bit distracted.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I just… willed it into existence?” The dragon’s teeth showed again in his smile. He was clearly dramatic, and loved a good story.

“Yeah, actually. I’ve seen magic do weirder things.” Juno shrugged, his voice distant, and the dragon frowned.

“Are you feeling well, Juno? You do seem a bit ill.” His head was tilted again, and his voice seemed genuinely concerned.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Really. Just… injuries, you know? Got hit over the head, that kind of stuff leaves you all spinning sometimes.” Juno ran his fingers through his hair, careful or the area where a bandage covered it.

“I see. How about you go shower? There is a spring not far from here, and when you return I can check on those injuries.” Juno nodded, agreeing to be lead to the spring. Rex left a change of clothes with him, made of simple and comfortable cotton.

Juno couldn’t understand the situation. What does this dragon want? What could he possibly want? He took Juno in when he was injured, dressed his wounds, welcomed him in his den (because that was a dragon’s den if Juno has ever seen one. Which he hasn’t, but he heard the stories Sasha and her parents told). But dragons didn’t do things for no reason. What reason could this dragon, a being powerful enough to just will things into existence, and whose magic pulsed through the whole cave system, vibrating through Juno’s body with every breath, have for trying to help him?

The springs were naturally hot, located in a cave with high ceilings. The stone itself had veins of gold in it, and the light he carried with him shone on it, reflecting back and forth. If this was a human settlement, they would’ve ripped this mountain for its gold already. But this was a dragon’s den, and dragons had value for gold even when it was still in the vein, solely for its beauty and magical qualities. As Juno showered, he could feel his exhaustion peeling off with the grime and blood, magically disappearing. While this particular spring was quite small, Juno could hear larger ones in the depths. Maybe large enough for the dragon to soak in in his true form.

The dragon walked into the cave again once Juno was in his underclothes, this time not as overly dressed as he was before. He wore a white cotton shirt that seemed fitted for his measurements, and dark red pants the same colour as his previous attire. He knelt near Juno, summoning bandaged and some sort of ointment.

“Why are you doing this?” Juno asked quietly, not looking at the man who was currently bandaging his wounds. He tried to tell him he can do it himself, but Glass wouldn’t budge.

“Well, why not? You’re injured and tired, Juno. It would be irresponsible of me as a host to let you go untreated.” His voice was quiet and professional. “Now sit still and let me finish. Then we can go eat.” Juno let him do as he wished, then got fully dressed and followed him back to where they came from.

The food was all on a low table, surrounded by large cushions. Juno wasn’t used to so much food in the same place. This kind of plenty, in general, wasn’t something he was familiar with. But still, he sat at the table besides Rex, they ate, and the conversation flowed. Rex was… charming. His eyes were hypnotising, and he had a certain scent to him, like spices from a far off land, that’s Juno couldn’t quite put his finger on but couldn’t get enough of. Juno thought… he might be okay with it. With being here, with this dragon.

~~~

“So, would you tell me what brought you here, Juno? I am curious.” Nureyev asked, lounging on a pillow and comfortably leaning toward Juno.

“Let’s just say the knights don’t particularly like me.” He sighed tiredly. “I hit the head knight in the face. Tried to expose his corruption, but even though I brought evidence, nobody cared. So they kicked me and started threatening to kill me if I don’t shut my mouth.” He shrugged, like he didn’t care, but his eyes said otherwise.

“That sounds cruel, Juno, I’m sorry for this.” He put a hand on the knight’s, gently tracing his bruised knuckles with his thumb. Everything about this human was fascinating. Usually he didn’t care for humans much. They were there to be exploited or ignored or fought. Nothing more. Nothing like… like this knight, open and hurting and quick witted and with so much sadness in him.

“Well, it is what it is.” He shrugged again, adamantly avoiding Nureyev’s gaze in a way that was almost amusing, and Nureyev took as a challenge.

“So, what will you do now?” He asked, tilting his head at Juno as he put a grape in his mouth, letting it burst between his teeth.

“I… I don’t know. Probably run somewhere else. It’s pretty clear that if I stay around, they’ll kill me. The only reason I survived was because I know the catacombs well, and no one else would go in them.” Juno’s eyes were cast aside, ashamed and tired.

“Well… life can wait one night, can’t it? Come here, Juno.” Nureyev smiled softly at the knight, eyes hooded and posture inviting. He didn’t even need to charm him magically, but Juno looked… almost compelled. He closed the distance between them, and Nureyev pulled him in for a kiss.

This human knight tasted of mead and honey and blood, and fit so easily in his arms that it just felt right. Like it was meant to be, and Juno Steel was always supposed to end right there, in his arms. Like it was only a matter of time, and they would do the same thing in every universe out there.

“Don’t you get tired of pretending?” Juno murmured against his lips as they pulled away, and Peter looked into his deep brown eyes that seemed so warm and so sad.

“What do you mean?” He tilted his head to the side, curious. There was no way he could know. Nureyev was very good at disguising himself, at appearing like a rich, slightly eccentric human. There is no way a knight in his early 20’s would uncover his disguise.

“Pretending to be human.” Juno pulled away just a little further, pinning him with his gaze. He didn’t look like he was running away, though, and that was unusual. “Cut the games, Rex. You’re not the first dragon I met.” His voice was dull and distant, like he wasn’t all there. It wasn’t a knight bragging about the amount of dragons he killed. It was just… acknowledgement. He didn’t look like he was going to attack.

“That… does seem familiar, yes. I must admit, you are not reacting with as much… violence, as I’ve come to expect from a knight.” He confessed, not making any move toward or away from Juno. This was it, either the knight runs, or attacks him, or… well, Nureyev didn’t want to entertain the last option too much, not wanting to be burned by false hopes. 

“Why would I react with violence? Hell, you’re the first person I met in days that didn’t want me dead.” Juno sounded a bit sad about that, but only faintly.

“Isn’t this what knights do?… slay the beast?” Nureyev asked carefully. His own parents were killed by knights, or… or so Mag told him. Then again, everything else the man told him was a lie, so why would this be any different? He was still bitter and hurting.

“Even if they do, I don’t care about that. I don’t do this. One of my childhood best friends was a dragon. She lived in hiding in the city. I don’t… I don’t fear dragons more than I should.” Juno’s eyes were cast down, and Nureyev didn’t know whether he wanted to ask him for further clarification or just fight him. Luckily for him, asking for more clarification appeared to be a sure way to start a fight. 

“And how much should you fear dragons, sir knight?” He asked, head tilted and tongue as sharp as his teeth. He sounded dangerous, and that’s exactly what he was going for. Slowly, he let more and more inhuman features grow on him. His teeth sharpened even more, the pupils of his eyes turned into vertical slits, and deep golden scales surrounded his eyes and dusted his cheeks. Horns started growing back from his head.

“A lot, but not enough that I’ll attack someone who was kind to me and never tried to hurt me.” Juno’s voice cooled down considerably too. Up until now, he was still using that soft, vulnerable tone, deep and golden and warm. Now his voice was rough, jagged steel. defensive like a wounded animal licking its wounds, lashing out at anyone who would come too close, whether friend or foe. Nureyev almost regretted riling him up like that, He was beautiful like this, but there was pain in the way he carried himself now, sitting up stiffly instead of leaning comfortably on the pillows.

“You are welcome to stay or leave as you please, Juno. I will not hold you captive.” Nureyev eventually said, met with only a small nod from this human knight. He knew the human would leave, deciding to leave a note for him to find in his bags.

While we didn’t separate on the best of terms, my offer to you still stands.

I do hope to see you again, Juno Steel.

signed, yours truly,

Peter Nureyev

[ernmark]

Do you have any theories about how Nureyev is going to interact with Juno in the beginning of the next season, and what their dynamic will be like? Peter’s so hard for me to read, I can’t tell what’s going on in his head, but his line at the end didn’t seem to have any malice in it.

Continued: Obviously peter knew juno was part of the crew but like is the job just Worth it (if juno isn’t in his good books)?

I ADORE that I have gotten multiple asks about this in the first couple of days since the episode aired– and that you’re asking me to make coherent guesses based on all of seven words of dialogue.

That just makes me really freakin’ happy.

So let’s break it down a little:

The theory goes that anytime someone experiences a loss, they’re going to go through the five stages of depression. Anger, denial, depression, bargaining, and acceptance, in whatever order, and I think Juno walking out on him was a big enough blow to count as a loss. The thing is, I have no idea where Peter is currently. So let’s look at them all. 

(Thank god for READ MOREs, because this is gonna be long.)

Bargaining

For being A Man Without A Past, Peter Nureyev sure as hell makes a whole lot of callbacks to his and Juno’s shared past right when Juno’s trying to move on with his life.

Let’s look at the last time Peter uttered almost those exact words, in Midnight Fox:

JUNO (NARRATOR): It’s more trouble than it’s worth. History, I mean– relationships with other people. You regret things you knew you had to do; you do things you know you shouldn’t. And why? Another warm body in your bed doesn’t help anything – it doesn’t stop killers or end hunger or make the world any better than it is. Just makes your bed a little warmer. That’s all. That’s all.

[…]

That’s why I don’t bother with all that. This is the new Juno Steel, now; the PI who doesn’t let a pretty face stop him from doing what matters. The PI whowon’t let history weigh him down. Without a past to hold him down, a guy could take on the world. And in the morning… once I get a little sleep… that’s what I’ll do.

JUNO: (MUTTERING TO HIMSELF) Can’t remember the last time I was this tired… Where’s that damn light switch?NUREYEV: Hello, Juno. It’s been a while.JUNO:  Nureyev?!NUREYEV: The very same. Don’t get too comfortable, Detective. We’re leaving immediately.JUNO: If you think I’m going anywhere with you—NUREYEV: I don’t think, Juno. I know. You called me, after all – by way of one Valles Vicky.JUNO: You’re Vicky’s… This can’t be happening.NUREYEV: It is, I’m afraid, and I’ve neither the time nor inclination to prove what’s plainly in front of you. Now, put on your coat and give me your keys. We’ve a long night ahead of us.

The reason I copied the entire scene is that I’m using it as context. 

In Midnight Fox, Juno resolves to distance himself from the past. He tells himself that he’s moving on with his life and trying to take it into a new direction… tomorrow. Seconds later, Peter shows up, posing in Juno’s apartment with the lights off.

Similarly, in Soul of the People, Juno is taking physical action to move on from the past by boarding a ship with a bunch of near-strangers (and Rita), and Peter shows up, dramatically posing on a car.

Notably, in Midnight Fox, Peter is decisively cold towards Juno. There is no flirtation, there is no banter. It’s crisp and clean and straightforward. He interrupts Juno. He gives him instructions that leave no room for argument. 

It is quite possible that this is the kind of attitude that we’re going to see from Peter, at least initially, especially considering the way Juno left. He’s got a job to do, and he intends to see it done.

The thing is, his cold tone doesn’t last long. Over the course of the hours that they spend driving to the Oasis, Peter goes back to flirting, to playing, to showing off. I suspect that he’s too mercurial to hold a grudge for very long against someone he likes. 

But let’s look again at his entrance in Soul of the People:

He repeats, verbatim, the line that he said at their last reunion: Hello, Juno. It’s been a while. He’s deliberately calling back to their last grand adventure in the Oasis Casino, the train robbery, their weeks underground in the Martian Tomb, their fight against Miasma.

He’s sitting on the Ruby 7– the car they stole together, the car they drove back to Hyperion City after it all ended. And he’s sitting on the hood (as Sophie, Kevin and Joshua said non-canonically, “knee up, booty popped”) posing dramatically. Vain as he is, he’s not putting on that show for Rita.

All of these little callbacks communicate very clearly that he wants Juno to remember what they had, and that at least on some level, he wants Juno back.

He could easily be thinking, “I got you into bed once and I can do it again,” and just be constantly throwing himself at his favorite grumpy lady, which would be a delight. 

Depression

On the other, there is a not-insignificant chance that he’ll be far more closed off and less flirty than he was before. The first–and last– time they were intimate, Juno was only halfway reciprocating. He was traumatized and numb and still halfway considering suicide, and honestly? Sex probably was not the best thing for him right then. There’s a strong chance that Peter decided that he was wrong to push it the way he did, and then overcompensate by trying to remain entirely platonic out of guilt, despite his own wishes. 

You could actually get some really good drama with that– with both of them thinking that the other one wouldn’t want to pick up the relationship again, and both of them miserably pining for the other while everyone else in the ship collectively facepalms. (Honestly, I’m kinda hoping a little bit for that one.)

Disorientation

(It’s not an official stage of grief, but bear with me)

Even before Juno left, Peter had trouble keeping up with Juno’s changing moods– largely because they tended to be steered by Juno’s depression than by any external logic (and it wasn’t like Peter could research a formal diagnosis, because Juno’s gone out of his way to avoid anyone who could give him one). 

Juno started to warm up to him– particularly when they were in danger– and then suddenly would go cold and mean when things seemed to be going well. They won a card game, and then Juno accused him of trying to kill him. They beat Engstrom and successfully stole the Egg, and Juno demanded that he give up the Ruby 7. They defeated Miasma, and Juno started talking way too enthusiastically about mass suicide. They slept together, and in the morning he was gone. 

Knowing what we know about the inside of Juno’s head, that makes sense– he’s scared to trust, scared to have loved ones who could leave him, scared to have anything good in his life that he could potentially ruin, and so he’d lash out and isolate himself. 

Without that context, though, it paints a confusing picture– so confusing that it’s really hard to guess exactly how Peter interpreted Juno’s leaving in the first place. 

And that’s going to get even more confusing now that Juno’s trying so hard to be better. 

Peter knew a very specific incarnation of Juno, and the Juno we have now is a very different person. He’s going to have to get reacquainted with this new Juno Steel, who acknowledges his mistakes and apologizes when he hurts people and lets go of the past, who isn’t nearly as grumpy or surly as he used to be and is maybe still figuring himself out after all this time. A lot of the things that Peter used to do to get under his skin will just glance off him now– and maybe the little flirtations that Peter expected to just bounce off might actually be openly reciprocated.

And that’s gonna be weird. 

What I’m saying is that Peter’s going to have to internally recalibrate, and that’s gonna be weird, and I don’t know how much of it we’re going to see on the surface. 

Maybe he’ll see it as a game, but he may just as easily get frustrated and upset at Juno for being so difficult to figure out. 

Denial

Let’s not forget: Peter Nureyev compartmentalizes like a champ. 

He could be 100% in the same mode that he was in when he and Juno were working together against Engstrom for quite some time, and only later admit to Juno (or even himself) that he was hurt by the way Juno left.

Alternatively, he could deny to himself, at least) that he ever actually loved Juno in the first place. He’d still play and flirt with Juno, but only in the way he does with everybody, without the sincerity and vulnerability he expressed before. 

Anger

I’ve mentioned it several times as part of the other stages, but there’s a lot of room for anger.

The fact that Peter is lounging on the Ruby 7 takes on a slightly different meaning when you remember that Juno made Peter promise to turn it into the police, and now he’s flagrantly showing off that he still has it. In the same vein, Peter promised that if Juno didn’t want him, he’d leave Mars and never return– now here he is in all his glory. There is something defiant and vindictive about that kind of display.

If he struggles to keep up with Juno’s latest change of heart, there’s room for him to get frustrated and angry– for a lot of reasons, really. I could never see him getting violent with Juno, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we see Peter responding to a relatively minor slight with a cold and cutting remark, as an expression of the anger from everything that happened before. 

[chiseler]

The Madness of Ken Russell

Critical thinking in Britain has always taken the view that Ken Russell was a wild, ill-disciplined talent who ultimately went artistically mad: this was also the view in the film industry. The only major disagreement was about when he went from being merely excessive to being balls-out crazy: different parties chose different tipping points.

(WAIT! WHO CARES ABOUT CRITICS?)

(Bear with me: in Russell’s case, the critical consensus serves as a valuable reverse barometer.)

Russell, a suburban boy, former merchant seaman and Catholic convert, made a few brilliant short films with his wife and fellow genius, costume designer Shirley Russell, before landing a job at the BBC’s flagship arts program, Monitor. His stint here taught him to fight, and placed him under the stern patronage of producer Huw Weldon, probably the only authority figure he ever respected. Many good fights were enjoyed. When Russell joined the program, there was an absolute ban on dramatization and re-enactment: the most he was allowed was to show a composer’s hands at the piano. By the time he finished up on the show, he’d managed to twist it out of shape to the point where he’d been allowed to make complete dramatic works in the guise of documentary. These TV plays are highly cinematic, kinetic and bold: like Kubrick, Russell had a love of both stark symmetry and dynamic movement. Control and its opposite.

Russell found actors he liked, including Oliver Reed, with whom he enjoyed a strange kinship: both were heavy drinkers, both affected a casual attitude to their work, though Russell was never ashamed to call himself an artist. Ollie became the John Wayne to Russell’s Ford (in a roiling, nightmare vision of classical cinema).

The point when Russell moved out of TV is the first moment his detractors choose to mark his decline into self-indulgent craziness. He made a modest, eccentric comedy, French Dressing (with mounds of inflatable girls piled up like Holocaust victims) and a wild, idiosyncratic spy movie, The Billion Dollar Brain, a Russophile anti-Bond movie full of flip humor and Eisenstein homages. Critics saw these films as work-for-hire, as perhaps they were, and largely discount them. They are quite brilliant.

Women in Love is counted by others as the last pre-madness film, and its relative sanity can be attributed to the control exerted by its writer-producer Larry Kramer. Russell’s excesses are held in check, it is argued, and the tension between its creators was productive. It’s a very good film, but I find it too sedate in places, though the vivid color and Shirley Russell’s bold designs, and some scenes of genuine wildness and invention stave off actual boredom.

The Music Lovers, his dream project, expanding the TV composer film to the big screen and color, is where a real case for craziness begins to be made: the choice to explore Tchaikovsky’s homosexuality now seems mature rather than lurid, but Ken is undeniably pushing the biopic into unfamiliar terrain: fantasies of decapitation by cannon-shot, a filthy madhouse, a demented honeymoon on a train rocking like the Starship Enterprise, complete with crotch shots. Maybe even worse, from the critics’ viewpoint, Russell, who had directed one TV commercial before walking away from that business in disgust, co-opted the visual language of the shampoo commercial to depict the images conjured by the composer’s music. Russell was in love with romanticism but saw through it too. Ironically, the filmmaker constantly castigated for unsubtlety injected an irony into the film that critics missed, taking the soppiness at face value and not seeing how the concealed satire blended perfectly with the overt caricature and phantasmagoric visions.

Still, the subject was respectable, but with The Devils, Russell managed a film maudit that took decades to be reappraised, and earned him criticism of a uniquely vociferous sort, admittedly in keeping with the hysteria of the film itself. An account – or channelling – of a 16th Century witchcraft trial in France, the movie didn’t so much push as cremate the envelope as far as sex, violence and blasphemy were concerned: Russell, who had converted to Catholicism in his youth, lost his faith while making this one, converting to an animist worship of the Lake District, a religion of his own devising. Well, he did have a substantial ego.

Russell was upsetting: apart from the torture, abuse and madness, the film threw in discordant tonal shifts, creative anachronisms and deployed all of his cinematic influences, which prominently featured Orson Welles, Fellini, Fritz Lang’s German silents, and the musicals of Busby Berkeley, which supplied the top-shots used to depict the rape of Christ on the cross, a scene cut by the censor and lovingly preserved by the director for a future restoration, still explicitly forbidden by the film’s backers, Warner Brothers.

Asides from his crisis of faith and crises in his marriage and his dealings with the studio, Russell was also knocking back the wine. “Better before lunch,” was his prop man’s characterization of the director. Production designer Derek Jarman recounted Russell asking him, “What can I do that’ll really offend the British public?” “Well you could kill a lot of people,” mused Jarman, “but if you really want to upset them you could kill some animals.” A plan was then devised to have King Louis with a musket blowing the heads off the peacocks on his lawn: the birds were to be fitted with explosives at the neck, like Snake Plissken, but Russell backed away from this extreme, even by his standards, approach, and instead had the target practice performed with a man dressed as a blackbird, and the King saying “Bye-bye, blackbird,” and Peter Maxwell-Davies’ remarkable score quoting the popular twenties song, and that infuriated the critics just as much as actual bird-blasting would have.

Less amusingly, Russell was also guilty of unsafe practices involving the naked girls and rowdy extras: the stories here get really dark. As does the film: a demented masterpiece that shows Russell for once engaging with the political: a film about corruption that uses physical disintegration alongside social and spiritual rot.

Just to confuse us even more, Russell made The Boy Friend the same year, an epic music and a miniature at the same time, allowing him to recreate Busby Berkeley’s pixilated fantasias in a seedy English theater. It’s light and charming, but Russell’s version of these qualities was not recognized by the critics, and it’s true that his wit is clodhopping, his whimsy grotesque, everything is overplayed, in your face: but you have to climb aboard the film, get into its spirit, and then it really is a very lovely reversal of the usual nightmare.

The seventies brought more composer films, Mahler and Lisztomania, and also the rock opera Tommy, which earned Russell slightly better reviews as his boisterousness was judged more in keeping with the material (critics, it seemed, could not stand the idea of a filmmaker responding to classical music for its passion and energy, its rock ‘n’ roll qualities, rather than for its assumed civilising effect). Russell got away with showing Ann-Margret humping her cushions while slathered in feculent chocolate sauce, shot Tina Turner with a 6mm lens to uglify her as she thrashed around a steel sarcophagus studded with hypos, and put Elton John on ten-foot platform shoes.

Lisztomania is another movie that’s seen as marking the decline into lunacy: its producer, David Puttnam, hugely impressed by Russell’s flare and his ability to shoot Mahler after half the budget fell through, felt that ultimately the relentless negative press knocked his enfant terrible off-balance. Instead of rolling over in submission, Russell perversely doubled down on the excess and became a parody of himself. And he had already been a parody to begin with (but a parody without an original, unless we take him as a combined burlesque of all his cinematic influences). I’ve always adored Lisztomania, which knows it’s going too far, knows its japes and conceits are ludicrous and indefensible, knows it can’t get away with Roger Daltrey as Liszt and Ringo Starr as the Pope. And just. Doesn’t. Care.

Valentino, which marked the end of the Russell marriage (there would be a bunch more), was dismissed by Russell as the fag-end of his first British period, “everything about it was bored and boring, including me,” but it’s actually rather good. Nureyev as Valentino (well, he was used to being called Rudolph), Russell as Rex Ingram wielding a megaphone the size of a cannon. The twenties, as lived by Rambova, Dorothy Arzner, Fatty Arbuckle, or as dreamt by Mad Ken.

Russell had made his career in Britain at a time when the industry was in collapse: he largely missed the explosion of energy that marked Swinging London, the British new wave, and the only kitchen sink he liked was the one he was always throwing in. Now, the domestic business seemed to have expired of ennui, senile dementia and blood poisoning, but Hollywood beckoned. Russell was bottom of a long list of directors who all turned down Paddy Chayefsky’s Altered States, a late-mid-life crisis film about sensory deprivation tanks and psychedelics which takes John C. Lilley and fuses him with Dr. Jekyll. Russell took it on despite being forbidden from changing a line of dialogue, but got his revenge by having his actors speak fast -- like Jimmy Cagney fast, not so much throwing away their lines as firing them like tennis balls. And by having them eat at the same time. And by expanding the hallucination sequences until they took over the movie, so that they were all anyone talked about. Druggie audiences would hang out into the lobby, Russell gleefully reported, posting a sentry in the auditorium who would yell “Hallucination!” whenever one was starting, and everyone would rush back in to get a hit of audiovisual delirium.

A bit like Women in Love, Altered States benefited from the creative clash between director and writer (who took his name off the script in protest at Russell’s backhanded fidelity), but the reaction among respectable types was mainly a theatrical eye-roll: the maniac was up to his old tricks. Crimes of Passion, starring Kathleen Turner and Anthony Perkins, was next, with she as a Belle de Jour career girl by day, working girl by night, he as an insane sex-obsessed preacher, some forgettable soap opera type as leading man, the whole thing soaked in neon colors and spliced full of Bearsley and Hokusai, whom the American censor duly deleted in horror. “They cut out anything to do with art,” observed the filmmaker.

And that was it for America, save occasional pieces for HBO, progressively more televisual, the locked-off symmetrical winning out over the kinetic. Russell returned to the UK to make theatrical features, and again you heard the cry off “Whatever happened? He used to be good!” Gothic dealt with Byron and the Shelleys and the birth of Frankenstein, and was fruity, literate, dirty good fun. The Rainbow was a return to Women in Love territory, on a lower budget and with less energy and star wattage: Russell declared it his best film since that imagined zenith, and a few critics wanly agreed. The Lair of the White Worm was another journey beyond the pale, thrusting some of the same actors into a ludicrous vampire and snake goddess phallic farrago with Hugh Grant and a kilted Peter Capaldi attempting to snakecharm with bagpipes. A vampirized policeman gets his head impaled on a deco sundial. Marvelous. And the sequence was rounded out with Salome’s Last Dance, which stages Oscar Wilde’s biblical wet dream in a Victorian brothel, an inspired no-budget solution and a film which, unlike Altered States, really respects its words, lingering over them, rolling them salaciously over its tongue. Add in also Ken’s episode of Aria, in which he stages Nessun Dorma as an accident victim’s operating room hallucination, with porn mag model Linzi Drew, a new Russell favorite, in the lead.

Time was running out, the budgets shrinking like a Fu Manchu death chamber, the ceiling pressing down and clearly constraining what Russell could achieve, despite his continuing ambition. Lady Chatterley’s Lover for the BBC scored huge ratings, and he was never asked back. Commercial television’s top arts programme, The South Bank Show, run by Russell’s old screenwriter from Women in Love, Melvyn Bragg, kept him going with more-or-less annual commissions: he’d come full circle, or did when he moved back to home movies, shot in his garden or in his favorite Soho pub, which he hoped to “flog on the internet.” The symmetry of the career, its ourobousness, is more pleasing to contemplate than it must have been to live, though the last marriage lasted and was happy, and the ever-moving critical pendulum had reached the place where people were starting to say that The Devils and some of the other seventies work was really good, actually.

I can admire everything up until the final home movies, and maybe I’ll come round to them: Russell was right to admire all his earlier films. He spent decades more or less brushing off French Dressing, then saw it on TV and thought, “This is a masterpiece!” which it is. But only a minor one compared to what was those around it. Seaside-postcard humor, musical comedy performances, pop art imagery, Wagnerian and Stravinskian soundtracks, a defiant rejection of subtlety. “I don’t believe there’s any value in understatement […] This is the age of kicking people in the balls and telling them something and getting a reaction […] Picasso was not restrained, Mahler was not restrained!’” His detractors thought he should be, possibly in a straitjacket and with megadoses of Thorazine, but Russell was a volcanic eruption in cinematic form, a purple-faced tyrant of the Stroheim school, a demonic force driven to possess reels of celluloid and make them glow in the dark with a sugar rush radiation that has yet to decay. He was too big, too vulgar, too beautiful, too nasty and too beautiful for a national cinema mired in lethargic literary-theatrical respectability. “The visual arts have never had a foothold in England,” he sneered.

Ken!

Life is not a Ken Loach movie. It is a Ken Russell movie.

by David Cairns

[mollymauk-teafleak]

now that I got it

Happy Christmas to my most wonderful girlfriend @spiky-lesbian who I just love absolutely to pieces. 

please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3!

Follows on from my Jupeter high school au fic!

-----

Nureyev is eager to take his relationship with Juno further, now that they're both out of high school and have their own place.

But for someone who prides himself on being the smartest, most well prepared person in the room, dealing with your first time having sex can be a challenge...

-----

It helped if he thought of it like a mission. Though Nureyev had to admit, he’d never had a mission that required this particular set of tools.

He planned it all out in his head, down to the moment, the way he’d been taught. Even in the weeks he’d had since that part of his life ended, he hadn’t lost the skills and they helped keep him calm now.

Not that he had any reason to be nervous. He didn’t.

First, the lights. He dimmed them as much as he could, relying heavily on the light from the street outside when he realised they really only had the one naked bulb overhead. But there were the battered old electric candles, left in a kitchen drawer when he’d moved in, clearly meant for the many nights when the power went out in Oldtown. Arranged nicely on the wardrobe and the bookcase and the nightstand, they did help fill the room with something approaching an atmospheric glow.

Next, the flower petals. He only had a loose handful, fair enough, gathered sneakily from the wilting bouquets outside of a flower shop from a nicer part of Hyperion. But when he spread them out sparingly enough, around their bed and leading up to the doorway, it did look romantic. More romantic than the socks and papers and balled up, half finished job applications that scattered the carpet previously had, anyway.

Then...well then there was everything else. He’d done plenty of research, of course, he wouldn’t attempt a mission without research. But still, when he’d found himself actually in the drugstore, looking at the rows and rows of products, he’d found himself grabbing the first things that seemed to fit his description and bolting.

Not that he had any reason to be nervous. And so he wasn’t. He told himself that as he arrayed the small bottle of lube that was supposed to smell like strawberries and the box of condoms on the nightstand.

And finally there was his outfit. When he imagined how he would like to dress for this, he only came up with things that definitely had not been part of his wardrobe when he’d packed for his undercover mission to Mars. It had all been very sparse and functional, nothing remotely silky or satiny or lacy. And he definitely did not have the funds to acquire anything like that.

But that had never stopped Peter Nureyev before.

Looking at himself in the mirror, the nerves that definitely weren’t there retreated slightly. He’d gone for red silk, thinking it would match his favourite colour of lipstick, black lace edging the hem. Now it was actually on him, he had to admit it was a little too big on him, slipping down further than he’d imagined it would, the straps always seeking to slide down the hard angles of his shoulder and collarbone. But he made himself stand as tall as he could, which was really quite far, put a hand on one skinny hip, flip back the feathery fall of his hair and give the mirror a sultry, cherry lipped smile.

And the nerves that weren’t there were less there.

Smiling a little now, the thudding of his heart now feeling like something more exciting, Nureyev crossed to the bed and tried to lie out across it in a tempting fashion. He tried a few, actually, cycling through some that felt suitably tempting, copying some streams he’d seen during his research. Not that he’d watched much of them before throwing his comms to the foot of the bed and hiding his burning face in his hands.

Finally he decided on sprawling across the pillows, leaning back on one hand, one leg bent. That felt salacious enough, though his hand would start to go dead if Juno didn’t walk through the door soon. Which he should do in approximately three minutes. Nureyev had worked in some time for rush hour traffic, which always seemed to be at its thickest when the Academy let out.

He could imagine Juno’s eyes, so tired after a day of training, lighting up when he saw him. He could imagine his jaw dropping and his eyes sparking with lust, his boyfriend pouncing on him in a fit of passion straight out of some classic Earth bodice ripper, making wild and passionate love to him. Precisely as planned.

Exactly when his thoughts turned muddy and formless, Nureyev didn’t know. All he did know was the next thing he was properly aware of which was Juno standing over him, smiling bemusedly and gently shaking his shoulder.

“Uh, hey babe,” he grinned, the electric emergency lights flickering on his teeth, “Did you mean to fall asleep?”

“Oh for crying out loud!” Nureyev bolted up with indignation, so quickly that if his boyfriend wasn’t as quick as he was, he’d have been in for a nasty headbutt, “This was not in the plan!”

“The plan?” Juno blinked, eyeing the now fairly wilted petals and the candles before his eyes snagged on what Nureyev was wearing and stuck there firmly, “Oh…”

Any confidence he’d once felt evaporated quickly, Nureyev pulled his knees to his chest quickly as his skin flamed, “Um...I...I had an idea...but I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep, it wasn’t supposed to happen…”

“An idea,” Juno repeated slowly, spying the condom and lube, the pieces visibly clicking into place inside his brain, “Ah. Right. I get it.”

Nureyev groaned, head falling into his hands, “I know you said we wouldn’t do it until I felt ready and now I’m eighteen and I did, I promise I did, but when I was getting everything ready and trying to make things good and nice, it all just felt so scary even though I was ready and then I tried to surprise you and I messed it all up even through I planned it out and now...now…”

Juno gave a rough chuckle, wrapping an arm around Nureyev’s shoulders, “Now you’re going to take a breath. Because jeez, babe…”

Nureyev did, inhaling deeply and giving a long, shaky exhale, “Juno, I’m sorry…”

“Hey, come on,” Juno shook his head firmly, “You don’t have anything to apologise for. And quit thinking of it like a mission!”

Nureyev pulled a face, “Perhaps not the healthiest…”

“If you were nervous you could have just told me,” Juno pressed a kiss to his cheek that tasted of bad coffee but was needed all the same.

“I just feel silly sometimes,” Nureyev groaned, “You’re so much more confident with this than I am, you know so much more than me and it’s the same for everyone else! I’m the one that's behind.”

Juno paused a moment, a smile tugging at his lips, “Well...I can’t rig up a disguise to pass completely unnoticed in a Saturnian ballroom. I can’t scale a sheer wall. I’ve never even travelled off planet, let alone across half the system by myself. I can’t knife fight a guard twice my age and win without breaking a sweat. I can’t break into an office in the dead of night and hack my way into a computer system.”

Nureyev shifted, smiling despite himself, “ And with a broken heart.”

“Yeah, that too,” Juno laughed guiltily, smiling crookedly, “So yeah, this is one thing you’re not as experience with. But you’ve been living a really different life to me so you’ve had different experiences. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I suppose...thank you, darling. That does make me feel better.”

“Good,” Juno grinned triumphantly, kissing him again, “So if you want to get changed into something comfy, just order take out and watch dumb cartoon streams in bed like every night then thats exactly what we’ll do. But if you want to have sex and you really, truly feel ready then we’ll do that. Because honestly...babe, you look ridiculously hot in that.”

Nureuev burst into giggles, “Really?”

“I mean, you do in pretty much everything. But yeah, in that? You’re a knockout.”

“Well…” Nureyev grinned, tucking some hair behind his ear coyly, “I...I did think I rather suited it.”

Juno smiled softly at that, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He was making something of a habit out of it.

“You know, why don’t we try something that’s not as...involved as what you were maybe planning. But something I still really think you’ll enjoy,” he murmured low in Nureyev’s ear.

“I like the sound of that,” he nodded, shoulders relaxing, eyes sparking with interest.

He allowed Juno to press him gently back against the bed so he was flat on his back, shivering happily as he moved quickly to swing a leg over his hips and cover him almost completely. He loved to have Juno so close, so the whole universe became his roughened hands on Nureyev’s shoulders as he slid the straps of the neglige down to bear the top of his chest, the warm breath of his kisses across his collarbone, the coffee and soft powder shampoo smell of him, his hips pressed against Nureyev’s own.

“Do you want to know what I’m gonna do?” Juno whispered against his skin, “Or do you want the surprise?”

“Surprise me,” Nureyev answered immediately, eagerly, always unable to resist any kind of gift anticipation.

Juno chuckled, “Just say if you want it to stop then…”

They’d made out before of course, Nureyev was familiar and comfortable with this. Hands had slipped down the front of trousers, mostly his own into Juno’s in a surprising application of his pickpocketing skills, there had been a few intense and breathtaking orgasms, a few tears he’d been mortified by at first until Juno had kissed them from his cheeks and promised everything was okay.

But Juno drawing back, moving down to settle between his legs, was new. Drawing him close by the thighs, sliding his long, pale legs over his broad shoulders, was new. Nureyev felt the skin down there prickle at the closeness, at Juno’s soft exhalations against him.

“Oh…” he gasped.

“Still okay?” Juno murmured, eyes soft in the low light. Nureyev didn’t doubt for a moment that he would stop if he asked. But stopping was the last thing he wanted right now.

“God, yes.”

Juno smiled before dipping down between his boyfriend’s spread thighs and, Nureyev could have sworn, was still smiling as he ran the very tip of his tongue between them. He felt his back arch and his thighs tighten around Juno’s head, his curls raising goosebumps.

“Oh fuck…” he whimpered, the only thing he could think to say as Juno began to eat him out in earnest.

The slightest flicker of his tongue wrought screams from Nureyev, the barest nudge of his nose against his cock made him clutch at the sheets under him hard enough to tear them. One arm thrown haphazardly over his face clenched tight into a fist that would leave little half moon indentations in his palms the next morning, his feet flexed and trembled with some frantic current borne entirely of Juno’s expert attention.

It wasn’t the most drawn out session in the world, Nureyev coming hard with little warning after only a minute or two, but it wasn’t as if either of them were keeping track. However long it was, it would never feel like long enough.

“Nureyev?” Juno panted, rising up on his elbows to grin smugly at his boyfriend, his chin shining with something slick that mortified and thrilled Nureyev in equal measures.

He didn’t answer, just dragged Juno up to kiss him hard, with all the surprising strength in his thin arms. Juno gave a half laugh against his lips, answering back with so much enthusiasm that it completed the ruin of his boyfriend’s lipstick.

“You know,” he murmured, when they were both too exhausted to do anything but lean nose to nose and catch their breath, “You didn’t need to do all this to make me want to have sex with you. I love you anyways. You know that, right?”

Nureyev curled up against him, threading his arms around his chest, “Yeah. I know. And I love you too.”

And he meant every word.

[screechingfromthevoid]

To Remember Me By

Juno would describe himself as a simple person. He didn’t need much in his home, from his city, from his friends. His wedding dress reflected this. Juno didn’t need extravagant clothing to make an impact on others, his personality took care of that. His wedding dress helped him embody the part of him that wasn’t so rough.

He wasn’t sure what brought him to the dress that morning. It was shoved in the back of his closet for years. The little voice in his head wondered if he could still fit in it. He wondered if he was still worthy of it. I’m not sure I ever was before….

The silk crepe fabric felt new on his skin. He was tougher and more scared than all those years ago. Juno wondered if it still counted as the same body. He was able to jimmy the zipper up and closed. The back was open and showed his shoulder blades, but the rest kept him covered. Even then he didn’t like showing much skin. A bateau neckline ran from shoulder to shoulder to cover his chest. Three-quarter sleeves, elegant and understated. Full length with a small train behind him. The silk held close to his skin by design. Juno always wore things that hid his form and on this one day he wanted to show off, if only a little bit.

His partner at the time was going to be the flashy one, dripping jewels and covering only enough to be allowed in the public park they were going to hold the ceremony in. They were so full of life and love and Juno was going to be so happy with them.

Juno twirled in the dress and watched it flow around him. In the mirror, he pulled on the sides to woosh them back and forth. He gripped the fabric between his fingers and tried to hold onto the memory of them. First love always felt like forever. There was nothing Juno could do about it, they were a part of him. No matter how far removed they were from his now, they will always be a part of his then. Juno can’t be 21 again without them. The lilies and the springtime will always look like them. A cool sunny Sunday will always feel like the day Juno stood up there alone, waiting for someone who wasn’t coming. Dark red ink will always look like the letter that told him I can’t do this. The letter S will always be impossible to look at again.

Nothing will feel as sweet as first love, but other things have felt just as real. Juno let out a long sigh as the feeling of purple and cologne washed over him. The pointed grin with purple lips and perfect hair was less of a reach. Juno would always be able to smell him like he was in the room. Peter always felt like the one who got away, he was the one thief Juno could never catch. He was the one person he couldn’t hold onto.

That wasn’t really fair of Juno, and he knew it. Juno left Peter. Juno made a decision for the both of them. Juno didn’t know what to do with real love so he did what he watched another do.

But, that didn’t mean Juno couldn’t fantasise about what could have been.

With a hard look, Juno decided to use the wedding dress. It was still exactly what he wanted from a dress. He felt so pretty in it. Soft makeup and a bouquet of something exceptional would make him look like the picture-perfect bride. He imagined Peter in something stunning, show-stopping, explicitly gorgeous and somehow still masculine. Peter would be the one to make a statement because it seemed Juno had a type.

Juno wanted to be the one to walk down the aisle. He wanted to be waited on. He wanted gasps and eyes. He wanted to watch Peter’s face light up as he walked down the aisle. Juno wouldn’t trust standing at the top again. They’d have a winter wedding, somewhere winter meant something. Juno always wanted to walk under the snowfall as he walked towards the one he loved.

“You can’t wear your ragged boots with that dress, you know.” Juno could hear Peter say, once they talked about a snowy aisle. “I will not marry you in those boots. Your toes freeze or we find you a sensible pair. A white pair.”

Juno giggled out loud at the thought of them bickering about flowers and food and cake. It made him smile wider than he had in a while. His heart was beating faster as he fell deeper and deeper into his fantasy. It felt soft and safe, to think of the life he’ll never have.

“You know we don’t need to pay for a trip off planet.”

“If we don’t get everything off the registry I’ll take care of it.”

“The chuppah needs to have slots through it, we can be snowed on during our vows.”

“White, Juno? Purity isn’t really the first thought I have when I think of you,” Juno spun around, his heart stopping in his chest.

Peter always looked perfect, even after climbing through a window that was supposed to be locked. His hair feathery and light, with the single perfect curl hanging down in front of his face. His suit pressed without any signs of wrinkles or dirt, despite the climb. Juno will never know how he manages all his stunts in a corset.

“Though that might just be because my thoughts about you are the farthest thing from pure.”  Peter wandered over to the hanger Juno had carefully placed on the bed and picked up the veil attached to it.

“Nureyev…” Juno couldn’t muster any more than that. His thoughts were clouded, he was so light headed he thought his knees would buckle from beneath him.

Peter chuckled and pulled the veil up, being sure not to get it tangled. “Nureyev? Really, Juno, I thought we were far beyond that.” He wandered up to Juno, who backed up to the mirror. Peter frowned and pulled back. “Juno…”

“It’s… It’s been a very long time, Nureyev. And you just show up?”

Peter shrugged. “Here I thought you’d be excited to see me.”

“Yeah well, things change over time.” Juno choked.

There was a twitch of anger in Peter’s face, a swallowing of emotion, and a sigh. “You left that night, Juno. You have no right to treat me like this.”

That silence hung in the air, making it thick and hard to breathe. Juno needed to gasp for air but didn’t let Peter see his struggle, his weakness. Peter took another step towards him, more of a statement than a movement. He reached over Juno’s head and Juno shut his eyes tight, ready for a hit that never came. There was a tugging on his hair and he felt the light fabric of his veil surround him. Peter was a mysterious silhouette and the far off feeling of him came back and Juno started to slip away into the fantasy again.

“You would have been a beautiful bride, Juno,” Peter said to him. “But not in those shoes… We’d have to get you something sensible.”

Juno pulled the veil back over his head, letting it sit there and frame his face. He stared at Peter for only a moment before gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a kiss. It was supposed to be just one, of defiance and guilt and pure regret. But Juno’s other hand hooked behind Peter’s neck and Peter’s hands made quick work finding Juno’s zipper. He didn’t want to ruin such a pretty dress.

It was a cold morning in Juno’s drafty apartment. His blankets weren’t thick enough for Hyperion winters. Juno rarely felt the chill anymore. He knew the cold running down his spine wasn’t from dropping temperatures. He didn’t expect Peter to still be there. He only wished. Juno reached to the empty spot on the bed and tried to feel any sort of warmth. He clawed at the indentation, hoping it wasn’t a dream. He couldn’t handle that dream. Juno couldn’t handle the limited days of Peter he had. He needed something new to cling onto.

Juno sat up and ran his hand over his hair, springing it back to life. He got out of bed when he noticed his dress was hung up as well as his veil. He made his way over to it and the tiny table next to the mirror. An open jewelry box sat on the table along with a note in deep purple ink, reeking of cologne.

To remember me by, to match the dress…

Juno took the dress down and replaced it in the back of his closet. He eyed the ring closely. It was made of platinum with a single diamond embedded in the band. Juno snapped the box shut and took it over to his bedside table, opening the bottom drawer and throwing it in. The two velvet boxes hit into each other and tumbled around as Juno slammed the drawer shut. Juno got dressed and thought about moving. The little voice in his head convinced him not to. Peter would find him anywhere; if he wanted.

And staying would make it easier for him to come back.

[strechanadi]

Swan Lake Wolfgang/Siegfried overthinking no. I-refuse-to-count-how-many-times-this-stupid-ballet-and-this-even-more-stupid-characters-did-not-let-me-sleep!

Dear @spinmelikeyoumeanit ... this is yet again yours and yours fault only.

(And yes, once I start I physically cannot stop myself, which leads to... err. THIS!)

(I sincerely apologize. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Truly.)

Well, I promised, didn’t I? And it literally took me just about a lifetime! (On the other hand – academic life happened. Don’t do postgrad, kids, it’s just not worth it…) (Or maybe just dont try to write a dissertation in a MONTH! FFS!)

  One would think I would be over it. That after so many Swan Lakes nothing would have the ability to shake me. That after so many sleepless nights spent thinking over every little think here and there, I would know almost everything, therefore would be prepared for anything thrown at me. And yet here we are! Once again, blown away by Swan Lake of all ballets. I mean… could there be anything more cliché?

However, I already made peace with one thing (and you should probably too, saves lives and all that) and that’s the genius of Nureyev, of his Swan Lake and of the duality of Wolfgang/Rothbart.

As many of you remember, I’m sure (and slightly horrified), even recording of Nureyev’s SL is more than able to put me out of service, to prevent me from living what even the tiniest group of people would call a normal life. Or something. So, what the hell was I thinking when buying the ticket to see the ballet in question live, I have literally no idea. (Well. I have, actually. He may even have a name…) But yes, I did saw Swan Lake with POB live on stage. From the first fucking row, because that’s how extra I have to be. (Yes, my diet consists solely of bread and water since… seems like forever now.) I saw it, I died and that’s about it. However, my being dead is not something anyone would be particularly interested in, so let’s just move to the only thing you (the whole lot of exactly one person) are here for.

 I did write a review on said performance. And usually I’m trying to translate them (even though I’m not exactly sure why, because it causes me almost physical pain and at the end I feel endlessly stupid, since I have to search every second word in dictionary, which is slightly pathetic, also I love my Czech sentences too much and with my pitiful knowledge of English I simply cannot make them justice, so they look utterly weird in the end and they deserve better than that), however unlike with my first POB SL review 3 years back this time I’ve decided to just don’t give a shit and dive into the story head first consequences be damned, so I think with writing this thing here I would have everything important covered (i.e. no need for the actual review) (the first half was basically just me showing off my endless knowledge on SL music score, which is plain boring, let’s be real, plus I wrote all that in my first review).

/AN - This is actually longer than the review itself. I think I feel a little bit sick…/

So. Right. Swan Lake.

I’m not gonna pretend there’s anyone else in whom I am more interested than Siegfried. And it’s not just because Nureyev made him a main character of the story. It’s because it makes sense. Who is on stage from start to finish? Through whose eyes we are watching the whole story? We should be able to sympathize with Siegfried, we should be able to see his point, to understand him, to get what he’s doing and why – sort of at least. And that’s probably why I am so annoyed with traditional SLs where it mostly looks like the choreographers/dancers/ballet masters/whoever don’t even try and go with some bland hero, because whatever, we are all waiting for the 2nd act and the Swan anyway.

So, it’s clear I love Nureyev’s story with passion (you wouldn’t tell, would you!) and the moment the curtain raises I’m drawn to Siegfried no matter who’s the dancer. And, OK, if it’s Mathieu Ganio, I’m kind of helpless, I admit (it would be cute, I guess, were I not be way over 13 yo).

I will try to stay as reasonable as I could and not to embarrass myself. Too much. So I would not write about the stupid little things that nobody in their right mind would (or could!) notice (or at least not at the first sight), because, dear god, literally no one gives a damn about the way his fingers twitched during his Prologue‘s nightmare in perfect synchrony with the music and action on stage… Can I get to the point?! Preferably on this day!

  Normal person would be probably unable to talk about Siegfried without Odette/Odile. But I think we have already established I’m by no means a normal person. So, I am not able to talk about Siegfried without Wolfgang. (Yes, we are finally getting somewhere!)

I love their relationship in any shape and form and I would gladly watch every single cast and every possible combination of dancers in those two roles as I’m sure each time I would get something new (you cannot stop my brain, believe me, I tried). There was the oddly depending, blurred, yet intense José/Karl take. The terrifyingly creepy, what-the-fuck-happened-or-is-still-happening-behind-the-close-doors Mathieu/Francois one (that still makes my hair stand whenever I think about it, because… holy shit, that one moment between 1st and 2nd act!). The clueless puppy/slightly perverted, obsessed mastermind vibes from Germain/Francois. So what about Mathieu/Jérémy this time, hm?

  /AN – I’m gonna probably end up mixing dancers‘ names with their characters‘, so… Yeah. I have no excuses, it’s just going to happen anyway, no matter how hard I would try to prevent it./

  It was clear from the very first moment, Siegfried was much more mature this time, much more the young adult than barely 18yo adolescent. He looked reasonably confident, sure of himself, a true aristocrat, a crown prince ready to be a king (almost to the point where I was thinking – oh, where’s my lost, Asperger’s child? I want my lost, Asperger’s child! Spoiler alert – I got my lost, Asperger’s child eventually, do not worry. Just wait for it). However, watching him during the opening dance scene it was becoming more and more clear everything’s not so smooth as it may seem. He grew impatient, the whole situation slowly but surely becoming unbearable, and he was fighting against it with all he had, trying to stay calm, trying to play the role he was expecting to, his nervous, involuntary fingers tapping against his throne the only thing out of place. But there was always Wolfgang for him in those moments. Wolfgang, who was the constant, never-changing presence. Wolfgang, who could be standing on the other side of the room and the connection between him and his prince almost palpable, magnetic, electrifying. Always there. Always sure.

They look like best friends, no matter their different social status. Wolfgang casually showing Siegfried one girl or another (funny how he didn’t need to bring Siegfried’s attention to men, since he was happily watching them on his own accord), whispering something to his ear (A court rumour? An inside joke? A reassurance to keep Siegfried in his right mind?), hand casually on his shoulder. When they were walking together, Wolfgang was positively hugging Siegfried with his arm around prince’s shoulders. And then you saw him standing side stage, watching Siegfried being crowned, watching him dance, watching his inner struggle started by queen’s mention of marriage, watching him trying to act all casual and „oh, it’s nothing, I’m all right“ while knowing his autism and insecurities and all the good stuff is kicking, trying to break free and took over his mind and soul again. Because Siegfried may be more in charge now, but once autistic, always autistic… The mental issues were there. Waiting. As well as Wolfgang. Watching, waiting, calculating, manipulating without anybody knowing, using the Machiavellianism to the point.

And I wanted to scream, because hell, Siegfried, you look like a reasonable, mature human being. You are not the lost child with puppy eyes, you have to know something’s off! Tell me, what do you know! But then they were together and it was painfully clear he simply believed they were at the same page, he had no reason not to think so, they were in this together. Take the moment at the end of the „dance lesson.“ José himself leant towards Karl, believing him implicitly, automatically, without question and on top of that he actually looked him in the eye, and there was the brilliant moment where Karl looked away like – “oh no, stop, this is too much, that’s not right” and also “I’m not affected by this at all.” Francois just grabbed Mathieu’s arm and pulled. The gesture strong, harsh, leaving no doubts and literally no space between the two of them, because “oh no no, my prince, you have no personal space, no free will, I am the one who will tell you what to do, I am the one in charge, don’t forget that, I certainly not let you forget, ever.” With Mathieu and Jérémy the movement towards each other was mutual. Mathieu leaned back, Jérémy went slightly forward whispering into his ear.

However just a few seconds earlier, during the actual dance lesson, was a moment that couldn’t be more out of the realm of things OK even if it tried. I remember someone did something similar in one of the older videos I saw through the years of my healthy social life, I, however, do not remember it being quite like this time. I’m talking about the moment nearly at the end with Siegfried kneeling on the floor with Wolfgang walking around him. Some Wolfgangs simply put their hand on prince’s shoulder and squeeze, some let their hand stay there for a bit (too) long, some doesn’t touch Siegfried at all for one reason or another. And then came Jérémy. He did touch Mathieu’s shoulder. Let his hand there. Heavy, grounding. And then, slowly, intentionally, almost proprietary traced his chest from one collar bone to the other. Touching the bare skin. Not in some delicate, subtle, almost-not-there motion with fingertips barely touching. This was open. Possessive. Claiming. I inhaled so sharply people on the balcony must have heard it. I almost gave myself a brain concussion. Or got high on oxygen overdose. Or something. Being at home alone (or maybe even with my family around) I would be screaming myself hoarse and/or swearing profusely. But since I was sitting in a theatre with 2,5 thousands other people completely clueless of my inner battle, I had to… just keep breathing and acting cool. Not that I was particularly successful or anything.

How the 1st Act was going, it was more and more clear Siegfried depended on Wolfgang. And what was even more painful, it was his own decision. Surely, he was manipulated into it to some extent and at some point, but with this prince I believe if one asked him, he would say he believes Wolfgang. “Because he’s a friend. Because he’s helping. He’s good. Stop asking stupid questions, I’m not an idiot!” You had to admit this Wolfgang did a fucking good job without actually showing it (and showing off, looking at you, Francois). Because at the end of Act 1 all he had to do to stop Siegfried from following the running boys was turn his head. He didn’t step to stay in his way, he didn’t cross his arms or shake his head disapprovingly. He just stood there, then looked slightly over his shoulder and Siegfried stopped. Like that. And then, just before he was about to start his andante sostenuto variation (during which I most definitely died, because there was simply no other option, since this monster of a man, while doing his manege of jetés entrelacé, decided to turn the palm of his front arm up to make the landing pose in arabesque a cry, with his arm desperately reaching towards something, to fill every fucking detail of his movement with intention and meaning and who the hell asked this from you?! I can scarcely cope even while you are just dancing and feeling the music in ways that are too close to mine, could you please tell me, why you had to even do THIS to me?! Am I not dead enough?), he looked back at Wolfgang. Like if I could forget about their connection…!

But what was between the two of them exactly? I don’t have a clue. I know what I see in José/Karl interpretation. I know how I understand Mathieu/Francois relationship (because I am a bad person, my mind is poisoned and my brain is sick!). But Mathieu/Jérémy? There’s so much going on but I for the love of all that is holy cannot put a finger on it. (And that’s probably one of the reasons I almost went to the stage door to tell them I love them. I didn’t. I am an adult. I do not fangirl. I just go home and deal with all the feelings like the emotionally repressed person I am. I would make an excellent posh Englishman.) Let’s just say it was for the first time that Wolfgang was taller than Siegfried. Significantly taller. So whenever Siegfried wanted to looked him in the eyes, he had to look UP. And this stupid, tiny, little detail made me feel so many things, it’s not even funny anymore (which falsely indicated it WAS funny once, which most definitely was NOT). But just imagine the Siegfried/Wolfgang duet between act 1 and 2 with Siegfried coming to Wolfgang, to looking up to his eyes, and try not to see the vulnerability in it. Try not to see all the cards changing. Because it should have been Siegfried over Wolfgang because of their social status. During act one they were at the same level – because Siegfried wanted so. And now, suddenly, it was Wolfgang over Siegfried. And when he put the prince on the ground in the end, Siegfried looked yet again completely lost, devastated and abused… You just didn’t know how exactly this time. Or you did, but it was still just a wild guess, you couldn’t be completely, absolutely, 100% sure.

What was sure – Siegfried was broken. He took the offered crossbow as if not knowing what he is doing, as if not knowing it’s his hands that is holding it.  And then he stood up, turned and wanted to go to Wolfgang, because obviously. He made two steps, and Wolfgang was just standing there, centre stage, looking (not with the arms dismissively crossed as Francois, mind you) and Siegfried stopped, tripped over his feet, looked and promptly turned back. And there was something so unbelievably hurt in him. Because he knew what the crossbow means, figuratively. And that’s what hurt him most. Seeing Wolfgang with it. Seeing Wolfgang pushing him towards the edge, knowing he’s helpless, knowing that it would be him who would jump, he himself, nobody would actually push him, just bring him so near the edge, there would be no other choice. It was like an accusation. Because “I believed you. I trusted you. I thought we were friends. I thought you would help me. And you pushed me back towards my illness, pushed me into those dreams that we both know will be the end of me.” You could almost touch the moment, the last flicker of consciousness, the hurt creeping from the deep of Siegfried’s soul but it was too late already. It was late the moment he took the crossbow. And you were watching him losing the somewhat sane part of his mind, the part that knows, and falling to his dreams, to his forbidden world. Because giving the poor Asperger’s little prince a bit of schizophrenia is a way to go. Hello, this is me, nice to meet you.

Yes, partly this whole mess of a situation was the Queen’s fault. Her mentioning marriage and crowning and you know, the adult stuff, made Siegfried quiver in his so painfully hard-won stable mental state of sorts, that seemed more stable than in other SLs, but was still too fragile. But Wolfgang was the one who made it happened, who was the vital help, who was the final cause. Because who else could have been more successful? Who would have been better for such job? Who could have managed such thing if not him…?

 I’ll give you a break and am gonna talk about 3rd act for a bit. Because Mathieu Ganio’s Siegfried in act 3 is a fucking piece of art and someone give the man an award for it!

There was an achingly apparent difference between Act 1 Siegfried and Act 3 Siegfried. While during the 1st Act he was able to hold himself together to the point one would not tell he had any mental issues, in 3rd Act he was loosing his contact with reality from the start. And of course he was, with no Wolfgang behind his back whispering to his ear, keeping him in check, distracting him while things become too tedious and tiring, calming him by his mere presence. So his standing up and leaving the stage during character dances made so much sense. He refused the princesses with pleasure and right then he threw everything, his control, his mind, his consciousness out of window, and just jumped, leaving his illness in charge and Odile with Rothbart appeared. And if Odette and the lake was a dream, this was much more a fantasy. I’m going to repeat myself, but I stop when there would be more than one Siegfried like this in 3rd Act. Because this Siegfried was not dragged across stage by Odile, he was not simply following her with heart eyes, smiling and thinking rather stupidly she’s Odette, the pure, fragile girl from the lake even though she’s acting almost completely different. This Siegfried was confident, self-assured, constantly trying to convince Odile of his power and to prove himself. He grew impatient with her constant escaping, there was anger and sharpness in some of his movements. We all know the moment when Siegfried is standing behind Odile and she’s taking his arms to hug herself, right? So Mathieu Ganio leaned in and kissed. Her. On. The. Neck.

(I let that information sink.) (And while it would be sinking, I take a little walk to ease some of the tension and calm my inner voice that is screaming profanities, cause HOLYFUCKINGSHIT, can you imagine the dreamy, pure, innocent prince from previous act to do such thing?!)

I would also like to mention the black adagio. You know, the one where Siegfried is supposed to be fascinated by Odile who is seducing him? The one, during which this time was not quite clear if the prince was watching the enchanting black swan or Rothbart with the same intent, with the same intensity in his eyes and tension between the two of them…? Yeah.

(Also – Jérémy before his Rothbart variation, sitting on Siegfried’s throne like it belongs to him. Good grief!)

The end of act 3 wasn’t as much of a mad scene as it was in 2016. However Siegfried fell down on the floor completely unceremoniously, lying on his back and while the curtain opened and we were in the 4th Act he lied there in the exact same position and it looked almost like he’s in his bed. Like he completely lost it during the ball (and lost it he did) and was escorted to his chambers, put to his bed and now his poor, tortured mind sent him yet again to the woods, to the lake side.

Odette in act 2 was a complete figment of Siegfried’s imagination, appearing suddenly from nowhere, made from thin air, sharing Siegfried’s pain and deep grief. (Yes, even in act 2, because this time there were no heartfelt love confessions, no big romance, no sunny smiles and promises of happily ever after. But there was a bond. Strong and deeply felt.) In 4th Act she was resigned. She knew she’s about to die and there’s nothing she could do about it. Because Odette is Siegfried. In this performance and interpretation more than ever. She was his innocence that was somehow betrayed and violated by the act 3 fantasy. She was his integral part, she was his childhood, she was his hope, she was the last piece of his sanity, she was him. And Siegfried came to her guiltily, ashamed of himself, afraid to look herself in the eyes and see what became of him. Because he was dying. And he knew it.

And then Rothbart appeared and took Odette from Siegfried. Took his hope, his mind, his soul - like the mental illnesses, Siegfried’s ultimate bane and his final doom. And then came the last moment. When Siegfried turned around and there, in the middle of the mists stood someone. With arm held forward, palm up as in an invitation. And then… magnificent, ethereal Wolfgang spread his arms wide. Opened them for his prince, to let him jump into. And Siegfried run and jumped with his last breath and last desperate cry of arched back to the arms of death. That is nor evil, nor kind. That simply is.

And it makes you wonder – what if this was in the end the best option for Siegfried after all? What if Wolfgang was doing what he was doing having his prince’s good in mind? Was it something he himself believed in? That he was helping? Or was it just something he would say, if anybody asked? And was he ever even real?

 Hello. This is Nureyev’s Swan Lake for you. Causes many questions. Answers none. Gives you bunch of other instead.

  Please, do feel free to tell me I should find a professional help.