#this is probably an unreadable mess but like i have a lot of feelings abt them and i’m bad at words

[seraphemmes]

my take on fukimei dynamic no one asked for beyond just kiana dumb jock fu hua hot nerd and mei mom

ok so they’re divided into three key values (not traits, values) love (the safety and well-being of specific loved ones), duty (allegiance and dedication to an organization or set of ideals), and logic (pragmatism really). this effects their dynamic in a way where if two of them get stuck in a mindset due to one value the third will act as a voice of reason or viceversa.

justifications and thoughts below the cut

mei: love (kiana mostly) and logic (most efficient way to reach goals) but not duty. this girl has NO allegiances beyond her loved ones. she would kill her boss in a heart beat and that’s so slay for her. (see her villain monologue from thunders)

fu hua: logic (effects of action and it’s consequences) and duty (phoenix and all that) but not love. this stems from just how many lifetimes she’s lived. people die, people she loves die, and the best way she can care for them and herself is to stick to her values and be a person to rely on.

kiana: duty (being a kaslana/valkyrie) and love (all the st freya people) but not logic. absolutely zero sense of self preservation on this girl god bless. she’s very smart and could be a tactician if she so chose but immediacy is prioritized over her well being. as long as the burden isn’t on her loved ones or goes against her perceived duties kiana couldn’t care less about going a suboptimal route (see the way she handles literally any core at any point in the story)

it’s important to note that the third value is not missing from them just that prioritizing it would more often than not be more harmful than helpful (mei wouldn’t be able to help kiana in the way she needs, fu hua with so many lifetimes and so many people might crumble under the weight, and kiana, well if kiana didn’t act according to her impulses and things went poorly she’d never forgive herself)

[cdroloisms]

I really love when people write about c!wilbur manipulating c!dream so I was wondering if you could write on about the smp realizing that c!wilbur manipulated c!dream into being a lap dog for him but a hell lot of trouble for then and if you could add c!wilbur taking advantage of the fact that dream is a god during a fight that would make my day. Hope you have a great day.thank you. Love your work.

ooh yeah - c!wilbur is back and GGG-ing as good as ever, , which Really makes you think abt what it’s gonna be like when he interacts with c!dream again. this ended up being a little more c!sapnap centric than i intended, hope that’s alright haha. (and thank you so much for the kind words!) 

tw: implied abuse, torture, drowning, dismemberment, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, emotional distress, dark content, prison arc/pandora’s vault, c!sapnap critical? not really?, dark portrayal of c!wilbur (typical MAD duo shenanigans)

Sapnap isn’t expecting to find anyone when he storms out in the middle of the night - he’s tense, they all are after the fiasco at the prison, but really his thoughts are filled with Karl once again going inexplicably radio silent for days on end and Quackity ignoring all of his questions with a simple “i’m busy” that he’d failed to follow up even twelve hours later, so Dream and Wilbur and whatever the hell happened that left Pandora’s Vault - obsidian, indestructible, tall and dark and proud - half-crumbled and sunken into the sea are just about the last things on his mind.  

Even so, he’s not an idiot, so he had enough foresight to pack a few potions and gather his armor and weapons before stepping into the summer night - it’s cool under the moonlight, a soft breeze cutting through the otherwise stifling weight of the humid air, and the comfortable night is enough to make his anger die down, just a little. Kinoko Kingdom glows soft and warm from the lanterns Foolish had scattered all over the place, thick with the earthy smell of fungus and flowers, and he takes a deep breath before walking to the city outskirts to hopefully clear his mind.

He’s no stranger to late-night walks; his temper had always been fiery, even as a child, and he’d figured out pretty early on that the easiest way to deal with it was to walk or run until his brain was too tired to think anymore. Walking at night also meant he could take out some of his frustration on mobs as well as the satisfaction of setting a random patch of forest on fire without worrying about burning down someone else’s property, and once he got good enough with a sword and shield to come and go relatively unscathed, Bad had stopped his worrying enough to let him do whatever as long as he came back in time in the morning. Sapnap frowns as he hacks at a random branch in his way with an axe, watching as it falls in a spray of leaves and crashes to the ground; he hasn’t seen Bad in a while, not since he became obsessed with the whole Egg thing. Quackity had mentioned some cryptic things, and Karl was adamant that they avoid the Egg as much as possible, but he probably should’ve at least visited, or something. Bad always knew what to say when it came to messy things like this.

Though - Sapnap laughs wryly - it’d never been this bad, before. Karl distant and absent, Q somehow even more so with a new glint to his gaze that sent a shiver down his spine. George, usually asleep, never around, expression perpetually foggy like he doesn’t know where he was. Dream- evil, insane, awful, somehow so familiar it hurt and too much of a stranger to recognize. He wonders when it all got this bad. He wonders what it says about himself, that he didn’t notice until it was far too late.

“Fancy seeing you out here.”

Sapnap whirls around, sword drawn; the figure staring back at him doesn’t even flinch. His eyes narrow at the sight, stance widening, shoulders tense.

“Wilbur?” He keeps his voice wary, guarded, trying his best to keep surprise from coloring his tone. Wilbur grins at him, tight-lipped, the planes of his face faintly lit by the moon shining over them, facial features only barely visible in the dim light. Without really meaning to, Sapnap cranes his head to look around at the surrounding forest, but nothing moves or makes itself known outside of the figure still staring at him, smirking. “What- what are you doing here?”

And where’s Dream?

Because Sapnap might not know much about what went down at the prison and what Dream’s plans are and the whole mess that he’d been so desperate to put behind him and utterly failed at doing so, but what he does know is that the two of them - Dream and Wilbur, Wilbur and Dream - had been all but inseparable, strangely attached to each other in a way that spelled out nothing but trouble for the rest of them. The rest of the server had been compiling sightings of the two in the hopes of being able to stop whatever it was that they had planned, but Sapnap knows his former friend, brother, and even if he doesn’t know Wilbur, his reputation more than precedes him: the two of them are smart, not to mention paranoid as fuck, and the rest of them have a better shot shooting targets in the dark than figuring out whatever the hell was going on in their heads with the two of them working together. Either way, he knows that they’d never been sighted apart - it was always Wilbur standing on a hill with Dream sitting next to him, or Dream hacking through mobs as Wilbur followed, or the two of them stepping into a fortress and leaving minutes after - until now.

“Could ask the same of you,” Wilbur laughs, just a shade to the left of friendly, and the moonlight scatters through the leaves and glints off his glasses. “Don’t be so tense, man! I’m just going on a walk, thought I’d enjoy the night. Didn’t see anything like this in Limbo, you know.”

Sapnap winces at the reminder, that Wilbur is here and alive in defiance of law and reason and the universe itself, but Wilbur barrels on, seeming unaware of his unease.

“Anyway - how are you doing, man? Haven’t seen you around in a while.” He leans back, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, stance loose, relaxed. “I’d ask Dream, but he’s been in prison for a bit, you know? Most of what he knows is pretty - ah, outdated, not that I tell him that.”

“What are you planning?” Sapnap snaps, grip tightening around the handle of his sword. “You and Dream. What do you want?”

“Who’s to say we want anything?” Wilbur seems to grin wider, and the expression on his face is unsettling, makes something cold slither up his spine. He shakes his head to rid himself of the feeling, half-wishing it was brighter so he could better see the other’s eyes.

“I mean-” he stutters. Because Dream always wants, he almost says, bitter and angry, that all-too-familar swell of betrayal rising in his chest at Dream, forever insatiated, forever wanting, forever looking for more more more. Because if he were to escape, and if he were to want nothing, then what did that mean for the rest of them? Because if he didn’t want, if he wasn’t left wanting, then did Sapnap ever mean anything at all? The thoughts stick to his skull like tar, words clinging to the roof of his mouth as it goes dry. Wilbur seems to stare at him, unimpressed, and he feels his face go hot.

“He’s not- he’s dangerous, you know,” Sapnap says instead of answering, because untangling the awful, knotted feelings that make up his remaining ties with Dream, half-frayed and neglected and forgotten, is more work than he can handle and more emotions than he has the energy to bear. It doesn’t matter, in the end, because Dream is still dangerous; he knows that, resolutely, and maybe it’s lucky, that he found Wilbur without Dream whispering plans and manipulations and meaningless words by his side. It’ll give him a chance to warn Wilbur, bring him back to their side instead of risking his life (again) in the company of his friend-turned-tyrant. Dream is dangerous, whether he wants or not, because Dream is Dream and he’s been in too many manhunts to face him with anything less than one hundred percent confidence. “You don’t want to be with him, Wilbur. He’s hurt- so many people.”

Wilbur’s expression doesn’t change, seeming as indifferent to the words as ever; if anything, he looks a little amused. “Really,” he hums, almost to himself. “Dangerous, you say?”

“He’s Dream,” Sapnap insists, because it’s the truth, and it’s the simplicity of it, really. It’s Dream, and Dream is dangerous whether he’s on your side or not, forever ruthless and unheeding as long as he gets what he wants. He’d been in Wilbur’s place, once, convinced that Dream’s strategies and planning and infallible logic had meant they had no way of losing. He knows better, now. “You’ve fought him before! He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anything.”

And if the words are a little more bitter than they should be when he says that, who but he is going to notice?

Wilbur’s eyes stay on his, completely silent, expression unreadable. The quiet gets awkward quickly, Wilbur’s expression seeming unchanging, nothing but the faint rustling of the leaves around them to break the stillness of the air, and Sapnap feels his gut roll uncomfortably as he looks off to the ground, waiting for Wilbur to react in some way, any way. It’s hard, he knows, to realize that someone you thought was on your side had been using you the entire time, he’s been there before and he gets it, but- it’s still strange, how still Wilbur has become. How he still hasn’t reacted - is his expression going to change?

And suddenly, starting quiet and then swelling in volume, Wilbur begins to laugh.

“Goodness,” Wilbur drawls through his chuckles, voice low and dark and sending chills down his back. “I thought he was exaggerating, man - you really do hate him, don’t you?”

“What- what’s so funny?”

Wilbur smiles, teeth flashing white as the faint light from the moon bounces off of them, “I have to give you my thanks, truly. I’d thought that Quackity did the most of it, or Sam, but you- I really couldn’t have guessed.”

Sapnap’s head is spinning. Wilbur’s expression is positively gleeful, eyes dancing, smile wide and brilliant, bouncing from one name to another with little explanation to how any of them tie together. Sam? Quackity? Nothing is making sense. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh Sapnap,” Wilbur croons. “You really don’t know, do you?”

He twists his hand in a flippant gesture, eyes directed into the forest surrounding them.

“Let’s just say that his, ah- stay, in Pandora, wasn’t exactly what I’d call a five-star experience. But you know that, don’t you?” Wilbur directs a flat smile his way, and Sapnap swallows, throat dry. Briefly, images flash behind his eyes - walls, dripping with crying obsidian, the lava’s heat hard to bear at his back, even for him, mining fatigue pulling at his limbs and making them heavy. How startlingly bare the cell had been, even through the haze of his anger, Dream, slumped in a corner of the cell, barely moving, barely even breathing as it seemed sometimes, sunken-in cheeks and sagging shoulders speaking of nothing but a bone-deep exhaustion. “Apparently, being psychologically and physically tortured for months on end has an interesting effect on the human psyche. Even more so when, say, your best friend comes once in the entire time to tell you that he’ll kill you if you ever try to escape.”

“How-” he trips on his own words, lungs seizing, “how do you know that?”

“He tells me things. A lot of things, really. Did you know it takes one and a half regen potions to reattach an arm after it’s been cut off? It takes three and a half for a leg, he thinks, but the blood loss made it rather hard to remember.” Wilbur steps forward. “Did you know that scars created by healing potions tend to be much thicker and more prominent than those made by regens? Or that he can hold his breath for a little more than two minutes before passing out?” Wilbur smirks, jagged, threatening. “Did you know that I can tell him just about everything, and he’ll believe me because there’s no one else to tell him otherwise?”

“Wh- what?”

“I’ll be sure to tell him what you said; I’m sure he’ll love to hear how his brother is doing.” Wilbur waves. “And when you see Quackity, be sure to give him my thanks, will you?”

“Wilbur, what- come back-”

And with a flash of purple particles, Wilbur disappears, leaving Sapnap alone in the middle of the forest. Stasis chamber. His heart pounds in his ears, breathing all-too-loud, and he stares desperately at the empty space where Wilbur had stood like it’ll bring him back again.

Fuck, he swipes his hand across his face, startled when it comes back wet. What does he do now?

[annabethy]

Okay so idk if you're taking requests but we don't talk enough abt the fact that percy was jealous of luke too so can we please get a jelly percy drabble from your marching au because annabeth was worried about him in college but like what about him leaving her? Also your writing is god tier

jealous percabeth!

Percy whistles in appreciation, wrapping his arms around Annabeth’s waist from behind. “Damn, girl.”

Annabeth turns her head and elbows him fondly, turning around in his arms to give him a quick kiss. Percy tries to hold it for a bit longer, but she pushes him away after a few seconds with a sweet smile.

“I know I’ve only seen you in this uniform, like, a million times, but it just keeps getting better and better every week,” Percy says. “Drum major fits you.”

“Mh-hm.” Annabeth tilts her head, blatantly scanning him up and down. “Says you.”

“Oh? Are you saying my uniform gets you going?” he teases.

“I’m saying it makes you a little less ugly than you normally look,” she says. “Why do you think I started dating you in the first place?”

“Because I’m your best friend and you love me.”

“Because you were drum major and I loved competing for you with the other girls,” she corrects.

Percy sniffs. “I see how it is.”

Annabeth rolls her eyes, wrapping one arm around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. She holds this one longer, and Percy can’t help the smile that forms on his lips as she does so.

“You know I love you,” she says, muffled against his lips. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not silly,” he protests, pulling away when he hears Chiron yell at them from somewhere over his shoulder, saying something about not wanting any band babies. “Would a silly man go get you skittles from the concession stand during break?”

“Not a silly man at all,” she says, playing with the silver sash on his uniform. “Unless you only get me skittles and not a sprite.”

“And to think I was going to let you conduct fourth quarter,” Percy laughs, looking over her head as someone dropped an instrument down the stands. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes, please.”

Percy nods and places his hand on the back of her neck to drag her head closer and press a sweet kiss to her forehead before he turns around to stalk to the mess of band kids.

He was a man with a mission, dodging around the students at the football game. He was a bit surprised that there were so many people there this time, but he plows through them, wanting to get back to Annabeth before third quarter ended. The lines of the concession stand were long, and he stood there impatiently, shifting from one leg to the other. He genuinely believes that there should be some rule that seniors get to skip the line because right now, it was just filled with a bunch of freshmen who thought going to football games would get the seniors to notice them.

Well, he supposes it did, but not in a good way. More of a I-want-to-throw-this-fourteen-year-old-in-a-trashcan kind of way.

By the time he finally had the sprite and skittles in hand, it was almost five minutes later, which left him only fifteen minutes of a break before he had to be back on the podium.

He hurriedly approached Annabeth from behind, a wide grin on his face because let’s face it — he was kind of in love with her — but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed a guy standing tall in front of her. There was an uncomfortable feeling building in his gut as he took in the way the unfamiliar face looked at her. Percy stood out of her sight for a few more seconds, trying to control whatever was bubbling under his skin before he made his presence noticed.

“Hey,” Percy says lightly, glancing at the guy before turning to Annabeth. “Who’s this?”

Annabeth’s face falls at his tone of voice for a split second, and if he didn’t know her as well as he did, he might not have noticed at all. “Oh, uh— this is Ethan. He’s the drum major from the other band. Ethan, this is our other drum major Percy.”

Alarm shoots through Percy as he notices that she didn’t say boyfriend.

Ethan sticks out a hand in greeting, but Percy just stares at it, unaccepting. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he was being irrational, but right now, all he can think about is how much he hates the way Ethan is looking at her.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ethan says, retracting his hand awkwardly. “You guys had a great show. You’re definitely going to be getting a superior at MPA.”

“Thanks,” Percy says shortly, trying to stifle the fire inside him. Ethan’s eyes were still on Annabeth and that needed to end now. “We’d say the same, but we weren’t actually watching your show.”

Annabeth blinks at Percy, surprised. “Well, I was paying attention and I thought you guys did amazing,” Annabeth clarifies.

Percy sees red. “You weren’t watching their show,” he says with a tight smile. “We were sitting in the back messing around the whole time, baby.”

Ethan’s face falls and Percy feels a twinge of victory. “Are you two dating?”

“We are.” Percy’s arm snakes around her waist as she stays silent. This time, there’s an unreadable expression on his face, but he’s too busy trying to make it known that Annabeth’s his girlfriend that he doesn’t pay it any attention.

“I’m sure your director loves that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Having both of your drum majors date? Sounds like a bit of a mess if you ask me.”

“No one did,” Percy says, a glare in his eyes.

Annabeth’s hand rested on Percy’s back, rubbing in a calming manner. He could tell she was trying to warn him.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You brought it up.”

“Actually, you did,” Percy points out.

“Okay,” Annabeth interrupts, turning to Percy. “We should be heading back to the stands.”

Percy doesn’t even try to respond, instead pointedly laces his hand with hers and turning around to stalk off, not giving Annabeth a chance to say goodbye to Ethan. He pretends not to notice Annabeth’s rushed wave over her shoulder.

He had planned on going back to the stands, but last minute, he decides to walk right by it and towards the dark area behind the football field. It takes Annabeth a minute to catch up, and then she’s looking at him, confused.

“Where are we going?”

Percy doesn’t answer. He keeps leading her into the unlit area of the field, treading through some unkept grass. There were no students over here as he brought her behind an empty building.

“Why are you—” Annabeth was cut off as Percy pushed her against the building and settled his mouth over hers.

Percy could still see Ethan behind his eyes, staring at Annabeth in a way he shouldn’t — in a way Percy found repulsive. He tried to forget it, to remember that she chose him, as he kissed her hard, pouring everything into it.

“Percy—” Annabeth breathes against him, her hands pressing to his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. “What’s going on?”

“I love you,” he says instead, his hands travelling down to settle on the backs of her thighs. He bites on her lower lip, worrying it until he catches a little sigh coming out of her mouth.

“You’re jealous,” she notes breathlessly as Percy trails featherlight kisses down her neck. “Why— are you jealous?”

Percy goes back to her lips. “He was staring at you,” he says with one kiss to her lips. “And it wasn’t in a friendly way.” Another kiss.

“You were jealous,” she teases, pausing as his hand palms her thigh. “But we probably shouldn’t do this right here.”

“Are you sure?” Percy reaches behind her to unzip her uniform’s jacket. The zipper disengages silently. “You don’t want my lips on your throat?” His words were punctuated by a sharp kiss to her neck. “My hand between your thighs? Are you sure you don’t want that?”

“We only have five minutes before we have to be back in the stands,” Annabeth protests.

“I can make five minutes work.”

“Percy,” Annabeth gently pushes him away. “We’re in the middle of a dark field during a football game,” she says, and the spell breaks.

Percy steps back to press his hands into his face. This feeling inside of him wasn’t going away, and his brain is on fire. He needs to feel her beneath his fingers, to be reminded that she isn’t going anywhere, but she was right. They were at a school event, and if someone was to catch them — he didn’t even want to know what would happen.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

“Hey,” she says softly. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t like that guy,” Percy admits, dropping his face onto her shoulder in embarrassment. “He was looking at you gross.”

“He was being friendly.”

“He wasn’t,” Percy says miserably. “We’ve met a lot of guy drum majors, so trust me when I say he wasn’t looking at you as a friend.”

“How was he looking at me?” Annabeth manages, stifling a laugh.

“Stop teasing,” he groans.

Her hand comes up behind him to trace the small of his back. “I’m not teasing you. I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking that he was staring at your boobs, and I wanted to punch him.”

Annabeth does laugh this time, and he pinches her side. “I love you.”

“You’re making fun of me,” he says. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“You wanted to have sex in the middle of an empty field during a football game,” she points out.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were jealous,” she says again.

“I was jealous,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be jealous or sorry. You know why?”

“Why?”

Annabeth brings Percy’s face to look her in the eyes. He feels a warm feeling race down his neck as she gazed at him softly. He can feel a calm breeze blowing through the night sky, ruffling his hair. The moonlight shines on her blonde hair, making it look silver in the dark, and it feels nothing short of perfect.

“Do you remember what you said to me on senior night?”

Percy smiles, remembering their first night together. “What did I say?”

Annabeth squeezes his forearm, knowing very well that he remembered. “You said that we were forever. You’re not getting away from me so easily.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did, and I believed you.”

“Good, because I meant it.” Percy leans in close so he could see her individual eyelashes and smell her clean hair. “Forever.”

And he really likes the sound of that. He can see himself in five or six years with a ring for her, and in a decade with a kid or two. He can see a family with her — a future with her — and he knows that no one person who probably plays trumpet is going to change that.

“You’re stuck with me,” she whispers, leaning closer and breathing slowly.

“That’s not a bad thing at all,” he says, closing the gap between their lips. Finally, the thought of the other kid is not on his mind. The only person he’s thinking of is Annabeth, and he may only be eighteen with barely any wisdom about the world, but this sure does feel like forever.

[catboythanatos]

hello and welcome to the first penumbra fic ive ever written. i found this in my google docs about a week ago when i couldnt sleep and its what got me on my current penumbra kick. i dont remember writing this but its definitely a very emotional thing i wrote some point after first hearing the penumbra s2 finale months ago and reading it made me SO emo i havent stopped thinking abt tpp again since. i edited it and added to it and honestly i think im making it worse so im gonna post it now and leave it as it is! this is just a snippet of an emotional conversation between nureyev and juno sometime early on into their post s2 reunion

---

"Nureyev…" Juno's voice barely reaches his lips, a mere tremble.

"I've told you, I'm not wishing to speak about our past at this moment. I'm here, but I'm still angry with you, you must understand. I'm here, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to--"

“Goddammit, Nureyev. I need you.”

“Well, you don't do a very good job of showing it, Juno."

“I know... I know. I don't deserve you. It's fine if you… if you never feel the same way about me ever again. I fucked up. I fucked so many things up, and I know that now. I know that… that I need to actually try, if I want my life to be better. I need to actually care." The words are spilling out of him now, faster than he can control. Nureyev stands stark silent. There's no room for him to argue anymore. "I was terrified… I was scared. I know it doesn't make sense to be scared -- you were offering me love, and-and hope. And that's what scared me. I'm so used to, just, hating myself all the time, thinking that the world would be better off without me... I'd rather just wallow in that then try to fix my shit. I was in that ‘nothing ever gets better’ kinda mindset. And I didn't want you to see me like that. Being loved… It felt good but, man did I ever not know how to handle it. I've been messed up something good. I know this isn't gonna make sense, and you don't have to excuse it, but… I left because I wanted to go with you. That… it sounds crazy, now. But I wanted to leave. I wanted to leave everything behind and spend my every day and night with you, for the rest of time, committing intergalactic crimes and making out in the backs of getaway cars but… It was a fantasy. To me, real life is… shitty. And dull. And love isn't real. So there was no way anything like that could ever happen. Even when it was right in my lap, begging me to let it happen, I couldn't believe in it. It seemed fake. It scared me. What seemed real, and normal, was going back to drinking alone in my apartment until you were gone and I could forget about you. So I did. But I never forgot. I never forgot, Nureyev. Almost every moment of my goddamn life since you left has been spent missing you -- the smell of you, the grip of your fingers on my skin, the clack of your heels against concrete floors, you-your voice. I dreamt about you. But not in the way you're probably thinking of. I dreamt about you, spitting in my face and telling me I wasn't good enough -- telling me that I wasn't even Juno Steel because the real Juno Steel would never have let you down like that; telling me that you were so beyond disappointed in me. I spent so many moments just regretting. I… I learned a lot of things about myself in the past year. Most of which don't have anything to do with you. But you were always there. A part of you was just… there, in the back of my mind. Sometimes telling me I suck. Sometimes telling me that I was beautiful, that I deserve great things. But usually that I suck. But… it was still always, always about me. I never thought really about what you must be going through. I just thought you'd hate me. Give up on me. Never want to see me ever again. So… why are you here, Nureyev? You don't need me. You can't possibly still feel for me--"

"Juno."

"--after I abandoned you and we haven't seen each other in--"

“Juno.”

Juno trails off. “N-Nureyev..."

“Juno, Juno, Juno… You have no idea. You have no idea what you put me through, yes, of course, that's one thing. But you seem to also have no idea of the effect you have on people.”

“The effect I… what?”

“The effect you have on other people, dear. Do try to keep up.”

“Why did I miss this? God, I forgot how fucking frustrating you are to talk to.”

“Anyways, Juno, I'm hesitant to say anything about my feelings for you at this current time, but I will say this: I am glad to see you again, and I'm glad that you've been taking the time to work on yourself. You deserve better than what you were giving yourself, at least at the last time that we spoke. I suppose one of the last things you ever said to me… was that you loved me. Is that still true, Juno Steel?”

“I…. I… Nureyev, I…” Juno laughs, breathy and awkward. “I'd need to spend more time with you to really say. How can you expect me to know the answer to that?”

“I have my answer.”

Juno stares at him for a long, long moment. His face is still and unreadable. Juno doesn't know what to think.

“Nureyev, I... is there any way I can make it up to you? I don't need you to love me, I… I just want you in my life, I…”

Peter reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing it. He brings it up to his lips, a delicate movement that sends shivers up Juno's spine, powerful enough that he almost wants to pull away. Peter Nureyev kisses his hand and he feels all the breath drain out of his body.

"I have my answer," he repeats, firmly this time.

Juno doesn't deserve this. He knows this. He understands this and feels it in every last fibre of his body. Peter probably knows this too and yet, here he is, giving him another chance. He feels lightheaded. His tongue is like sandpaper in his mouth and his heart drums in his ears.

I have my answer too, he thinks to himself, but he doesn't have the guts to say it yet.

Oh well, he allows himself to think. There will be more time. I'm not running away this time, and that's for damn sure.