#these actions are not unbidden and they are not done without knowledge of consequence
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đŽ Crystal Ball- What kind of future does your OC want to have? What would they do to make it real?
About dftr sun and moon vuv
The future they want is the past they once had.Â
Their life had been simple, but they wouldnât have given it up for anything. Creating and exchanging crafts with each other, playing in the river, stopping (and starting) food fights in the dining hall, walking through nature to study every branch, every funny shaped rock, every bird that soared overhead. Singing songs in the morning. Telling ghost stories at night. Skits and campfires and making memories. Teaching the kids everything they could, and learning from them, too.Â
It was by no means perfect, no life ever is, but it was all they had â and they loved every minute. They would have been happy to stay like this for the rest of their lives.
What would they do to make it real?
Anything.
They would hide themselves away for a decade, watching from afar as life continued on without them. They would pay dearly for a crime they did not commit. They would let themselves fall into ruin. They would speak with the animals if only to ease the loneliness for just a few minutes. They would dirty their hands. They would become the monsters that their campfire stories foretold. They would risk everything to make the hurt stop, to quiet the grief that has haunted them for years.
They would kill for it.
#dftr au#this one made me a little emotional ngl#i think i might actually cry when i get around to writing the final scene#i know i make a lot of jokes about sun and moon being a big scary slasher but#there is reason behind their violence. purpose to their crimes#they're hurting. they are hurting more than any amount of suffering brought to anyone else will ever be able to fix#they are grieving a loss that can never be undone#these actions are not unbidden and they are not done without knowledge of consequence#they are a cry for help#but no one will be there to help them in the end#...or will you?
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Rating: PG (cw: anxiety, mild implied homophobia, slight self-injury during a panic attack)
Pairing: Jon/Martin
Set before the end of 160
I went for something a little different that I think still follows the prompt of treating/distracting from injury by focusing on psychological damage rather than physical.Â
(edit: AO3 link https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119015 )
âI suppose we canât really put it off any longer, can we?â Martinâs voice was cheerful, but Jon could hear the strained undertone as the man searched through the empty cupboards. Unbidden, the knowledge came to him that even before being trapped in his flat for two weeks Martin had always feared the sight of bare pantry shelves. He didnât want to know that Martin used to plan meals around what he found on deep discount at the grocerâs, so of course the Eye told him.Â
âWell, i-itâs a nice day for a walk, at least,â Jon replied, hoping that if the two of them started a proper conversation he would forget the things heâd just learned. It never worked that way, but when had he ever stopped doing something just because it had never succeeded before? Martinâs laughter startled him out of his thoughts.Â
âJon, we havenât seen the sun in days!â There was a mix of fondness and mild exasperation on his partnerâs face, replacing whatever expression had been there before Martin had turned to face him.Â
âAll the more reason to get some fresh air,â Jon couldnât help the slight sullenness that tainted his reply, but by now Martin would know that he was just trying to cover his embarrassment so he didnât force himself to try harder to clarify. His partnerâs soft chuckle had the same effect it always did; the still-unfamiliar sensation of something warm and pleasant in his chest rather than the icy grip of fear or pain.
âRight. Youâre up for it?â Before Jon could reply, a thought came unbidden to the forefront of his mind.
Heâs afraid of being alone for too long, and he isnât wrong to be.Â
âIâll be fine.â It wasnât, strictly speaking, a lie. Jon knew that Martin would match his pace, find some reason for them to stop for a moment if he needed to sit down, help the time pass faster with light conversation. And in return, neither of them would have to be afraid of the consequences of Martin being alone with no way to contact him.Â
For a lot of the travel time, Jon led the way, but as they drew closer to the village he stopped to wrap his scarf around not only his neck but also the lower part of his face. Heâd chosen to put his hair up for the trip in case it was windy, so the wool would have to do for covering many of the small, round scars dotting his chin and cheeks. Martin took the chance to fuss over him a little, adjusting the scarf in what he claimed was a more aesthetic way, then took Jonâs hand.Â
He does that to hide your burns. So nobody will have to look at them.
Even without having the knowledge whispered to him in the back of his mind, Jon had been well-aware of why Martin favored holding his bad hand when they were out in public. What the Eye had left out, seeking to prey on his insecurities, was why. And perhaps it wouldnât have mattered what Martin told him before everything theyâd been through; he would have pushed aside the kind words as a pacifying lie. Now, though...now Jon knew that his partner was well aware of how much he hated that particular scar and that the weight of a larger, softer hand in his own helped to ground him.Â
It wasnât a surprise that as they walked down the main road of the village, the sound of whispers and, in some cases, stage whispers followed them. It might have been a bit disappointing, a tad stressful, but it wasnât a shock. After all, they were strangers first and foremost. Even before someone had the chance to register that they were two men walking hand-in-hand, theyâd notice that they were unfamiliar faces and make snap judgments based on that.Â
Martin greeted everyone they passed, and Jon knew that none of them would notice the subtle tells that the man was giving off. Even if theyâd looked, Martin had far too much practice hiding his true feelings for just anyone to recognize that anything was wrong. Truthfully, Jon wasnât confident about whether he would have known if it werenât for how long heâd spent studying Martin since they returned from the Lonely. He had never been the best at reading faces or social cues, but by now he was at least well-studied in Martinâs tells. âThe Eye has helpfully informed me that sheep have caused more deaths here than human action has,â was what he wound up breaking the silence with. It worked, in that it made Martin stop short with a sound Jon wasnât sure how to categorize as he covered his mouth with the back of his free hand. Suddenly, Martinâs hand felt a little more solid in his own.Â
âJon.â The name came out a little more high-pitched than Martin intended, going off of the slight blush that followed soon after.Â
âYes, Martin?â His crooked smile might have been hidden behind a wall of dark green wool, but it was apparent enough from the tone of his voice. It was deeply comforting to know that at least when it came to talking with Martin, he would be understood.Â
âYou-â Martin shook his head, gently squeezing Jonâs fingers. âYou are unbelievable, you know that?â Jon made a small sound of agreement, doing his best to squeeze back as they resumed walking.Â
There wasnât terribly much to see in the little grocery, and the amount of time it would take them to get home eliminated even some of the store did have in stock from consideration. They were quietly debating the merits of shelf-stable milk when Jon felt a small tug on the hem of his jumper. Heart racing, he whirled, adrenaline already dumping into his system before he had the chance to register that his assailant was a small child who stared up at him with wide eyes.Â
âWhatâre you doing here, maâam? Anâ whoâs he? My ma knows everyone and she was saying to Miss Mason that sheâs never seen y-whoa, whatâs wrong with your hand?â As soon as Jon realized that the burns were visible, he tucked his hand in the sleeve of the jumper and moved it behind him. Heâd been debating loosening the scarf while they were inside, as it had begun to get uncomfortably warm. Thank god he hadnât done so.Â
âHello, little miss. I��m Martin, and this is Jon. He,â and Martin stressed the pronoun a little, âis my boyfriend and weâre visiting here for a little while. Does your mum know youâve wandered off?âÂ
âYouâre English!â She sounded like she was torn between being awed and horrified at the revelation, and Jon tried to focus on how charming that was even as instinct still screamed at him to run. Childrenâs attention spans could be measured in seconds, he told himself. She didnât actually register the way the burns enveloping his hand formed a shape, she just saw something unusual and blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. Jon cleared his throat, contemplating whether he trusted his voice before thinking better of it.Â
âBecca! What have I told you about talking to strangers?â A woman who looked to be in her early thirties pulled the child back, kneeling to tap her on the nose with a smile before looking up at them.Â
âIâm sorry, you two. Are you...on vacation together?â The moment that she noticed the steadying hand Martin had on Jonâs forearm was audible. Just a slight hesitation, and the slightest shift in tone, but Jon was all too familiar with it. He registered somewhere in the back of his mind that his jaw ached, and unclenched his teeth.
âYes, weâve always wanted to see the Highlands in person.â Martinâs voice was polite, but left little room for further conversation. âWeâll let you get back to your shopping.âÂ
âWeâll have to talk more another time, when you come down just to visit.â The woman motioned at her basket, as though its contents were the only reason she had no interest in dallying longer, and her daughter gave them both an overdramatic wave goodbye before she ran off behind her.Â
Jonâs hands scrabbled at the scarf. Suddenly it felt far too tight around his neck, and the feeling of scratchy fabric against his face was too close to that of rough dirt. Once he could breathe again, he realized how much heâd been struggling for air. He hadnât noticed Martin moving, hiding him from view as best he could without making contact. He was grateful that Martin knew better than to touch him at times like this. Jon met his eyes and mouthed thank you in between deep, shaky breaths. He did his best to stay silent even as his mind screamed at him to gasp for whatever air he could manage to pull in.Â
âYouâre all right, JonâŚâ Martin told him softly, continuing with reassurances as Jon fought to calm himself. Theyâd found out together what worked for each of them through more...incidents than Jon wanted to think about. He forced the self-loathing down, tried to ignore the Eye telling him what a spectacle he was making of himself the first time heâd dared to try to blend in after getting to the safehouse. A quiet clap brought him back to reality, and he was once again hearing his partnerâs voice.Â
âJon, youâre digging your nails in. Flex your fingers for me, okay?â Martin imitated the gesture for him, and Jon looked down at his own hands, at the crescent-shaped indents heâd left between two of the scars left by Judeâs fingers. âAh.â It was all he could manage to say, but he followed the instruction. His eyes flicked to Martinâs face, automatically searching for some manner of disgust or disdain. He couldnât find any, though; just sincere concern. However, something was different. Taking another steadying breath, it occurred to him what it was. Once heâd pulled off the scarf, Martin must have taken it and wrapped it around his own shoulders to get it out of the way.Â
âDo you want to get some fresh air while I finish up in here?âÂ
âN-no, I think Iâd rather stay by your side. If thatâs alright.â Jon still didnât feel ready for direct touch, which ruled out hand-holding, but he carefully linked their arms. He knew perfectly well how he would feel once the adrenaline faded entirely. Having support would help soon enough, both physically and not, and he bit his lip against a surge of emotion at the knowledge that for once, he could count on having it.Â
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