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jaxxandcomet · 3 years

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the only thing I don't want to burn - JJ Maybank x reader

in which a boy tells a girl that he is real and the things that haunt her, no matter how realistic, aren't.

word count : 2600

trigger warnings : blood, paranoia, self harm, burning ( as a form of self harm ), schizophrenia, love haha, swearing

requested : no but they are open!

this one's rough buttercups, but I love angst and this was a good thing to get out emotions on !

gif credit : @outerbankspov

You were never alone. You stood in lines in the school cafeteria and tried to ignore the voices circling around outside, both the real ones and the ones made up by your mind. You laid on the HMS Pogue and soaked up the sunlight and tried to shake the feeling of someone choking you or of someone plugging your ears.

Pill 1

This pill was light blue, but it reminded you nothing of the sky. You held it in your fingers, trying to hold enough water in your mouth so you could swallow it. You’d read the orange bottle it came in, the bottle that your doctor had prescribed, and told yourself it would work. That it had to work. But the people standing around you told you it wouldn’t. Just like how they told you to kill yourself or cut yourself or how they took your thoughts away from you.

You swallowed it and blinked at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t taken a shower in days - the last time you did spiders crawled up from the drains and screamed in your ears. You looked down at your arms and still saw the scratches you’d given yourself to get the spiders off of you - even though they were made up by your mind.

The figures behind you that you’d come to know well stared you down, still chirping. You could see their reflections in the mirror, tainted.

“Come on y/n.” The boy with the red hair told you. “This isn’t going to work. I will be with you forever. We love each other, don’t we?”

“Y/n, why would you ever think that you could get rid of us? We love you more then JJ or the Pogues ever could. Listen to us. We do everything for you!” The girl said. The Haunter’s always told you lies, and you always believed them.

You sat on the floor for the amount of time it said it would take the pill to kick in. You waited for their voices to go away, for their darkness to stop tainting your eyes, but they never did.

You got up and left your bathroom, the Haunter’s following you down the hallway to your bedroom. Your parents were gone, and your middle-class home was silent. It seemed to you as though they were always gone. It was only the Haunter’s that were ever really with you.

You didn’t turn on the light when you walked inside and shut the door to your room, and you prayed it would stop the Haunter’s from turning your vision. Of course, their whispers could never be silenced. You crawled into bed and screamed when you felt a warm lump at the end of it.

“Fuck, y/n! It’s just me! I’m not going to hurt you!” A voice told you, and for a second you believed it was one of the Haunter’s still trying to configure your mind. They would always be trying, you reminded yourself. At least at this rate.

“God dammit JJ, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You felt a hand on your foot, so warm that you were sure you were making it up. It was gone a second later. “You are freezing! Get under the blankets before you go hypothematic.”

“Before I get hypothermia, you mean.” You corrected, trying to focus on the texture of the blankets as you crawled under them. You felt JJ lay down a second later, right next to you, a mess of blankets separating your skin.

“Thematic, thermia. Potato, tomato. Same thing.” JJ said and you could smell weed and salt on his skin. The last thing you remembered smelling was your own blood.

You tried to laugh but only hollowness sounded.

“Are you okay? You seem weird.”

“Wow. Thanks. I’m a weird person.” The word almost choked you. You felt your mouth dry. You were weird. That’s why you could never tell him. He would leave, and hate you, and that would feel worse then waterever the Haunter’s said about him now.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you just seem not yourself.” He spoke quietly, and you closed your eyes and focused on keeping your hands on your stomach so as they wouldn’t try to plug your ears. The Haunter’s were shouting at each other at the foot of your bed.

You took a deep breath. “I’m fine, JJ, just tired. I’m going to try and sleep. You can stay if you want.”

After the words slipped out of your throat, an encore of anger blasted from your feet. The Haunter’s screamed at you.

“No! What are you thinking! We are here, you do not need him. He is nothing compared to us. You love us and you know that he will never love you.” They told you. You tried your hardest not to believe them.

“You need your sleep. I’ll see you soon, Y/n. Goodnight.” He crawled over you and left via your window, which you quickly closed, preparing yourself for what the Haunter’s would tell you next.

They weren’t telling you, they were shrieking at you. “You love us! How could you ever replace us with him! You need to hurt yourself! What in the world were you thinking!”

You tried not to believe them. But this was the slipping point, and open air was soon under your feet. You got up, and walked to the living room, where you grabbed the lighter from above the fire. You sat back down at the edge of the bed, and lit the flame apon your wrists.

Pill 2

This pill was orange, and it felt heavy in your fingertips. The Chateau bathroom stood around you, and you popped the pill in your mouth before replacing your hands to where they lay on the bowl of the sink. You’d become an expert in the past four months of swallowing pills without water, and since you’d tried several other types of pills, you’d also become very good at reading the orange bottles. This pill had the strongest dosage, and was the one of the market that seemed to work best for severe cases of your ‘condition’. At least that was how your doctor put it, when she handed you the bottle with a smile.

It didn’t seem like just a condition to you or the Haunter’s, but they’d been ghosts for the past day, and on days where they went half-away, you tried to make the most of it.

You walked out of the bathroom and sat down on the porch with the rest of Pogues. Pope, who sat next to you on the couch, was drawing a route on a map for a day trip they were planning. Kiara offered you a beer and you shook your head.

“Come on, dude! I haven’t seen you drink anything in like four fucking months. Loosen up a little bit.” She said, taking a swig of her own beer.

“Don’t fucking pressure her like that Ki!” JJ said from his spot on the side of the railing.

“Says you!” John B shook his head as JJ pretended to punch him. Sarah, who was sitting next to JB, turned and ran her eyes over you.

“Are you okay, y/n?” She asked lightly, laying a hand on your jean covered leg. JJ turned his head quickly and nodded.

“I was just about to ask the same thing,” his eyes glazed over your body. You’d lost weight and replaced tighter clothes with baggier ones. His face paused when looking at your own, noticing the bags under your eyes.

“I didn’t sleep well last night. I hope I’m not too much of an eye soar.” Pope laughed at your remark.

“You will never be,” JJ looked away, holding up his blunt to his mouth.

You sat next to Pope and tried to look away from the Haunter’s, who were slowly getting louder in your ears and darker to your eyes. Before you knew, they were laughing and calling you names and pretending to shoot you with their guns and you couldn’t take it. You got up slowly and fumbled down the steps, a head rush pounding into your skull.

“Y/n? Y/n?” JJ got up quickly and ran down the steps behind you, seeing you drag yourself to the street so as you could walk home.

You turned around slowly and smiled lightly, trying to put away the Haunter’s remarks for you to shoot yourself. You gripped your sleeve tighter, praying he didn’t see the burn marks on your arms. They never healed for more than twelve hours.

“What’s up? I can walk you home if you want to go. You don’t look okay.” You could hear the worry laced into his voice.

“I’m good, JJ. Just got a little headache and want to go home and try to sleep. I’ll see you soon, okay. Don’t worry about me.” Before he could respond, you walked away and down the street.

Pill 3

This pill was red. It stuck to your tongue when you swallowed it, and you felt as though it may never hit your stomach. None of the pills ever helped. Some made the Haunter’s worse. None of them made them fade.

The sun beat down on your skin, and you pulled your long sleeve down over the scars on your wrists, and now arms. You could feel the sway of the HMS hunderneth you and the wind muffled the Haunter’s whispers, at least for a few minutes.

You didn’t pay attention to the conversation the rest of the Pogues were having, and focused only on how good the flame would feel when you got home. The Haunter’s were right that warmth helped.

That night, you sat on your downstairs porch huddled around the outside fireplace, surrounded by the Haunter’s. Their voices rang into your skull, and the only thing you could do to distract your mind from them was to pull up your sleeve and hold it over the open flame. Whenever you pulled your arm out of the glow, they would shout at you to put it back in. So you complied. It was the only thing that made them happy.

Your eyes lost themselves inside of the orange fluorescence, and you didn’t hear the twigs snap next to you or the gasp that sounded. The only thing you could feel was when someone pushed your chair backwards and you landed on the concrete.

“Shit! Oh my god. What in the fucking world were you doing,Y/n!” It took you a second to place JJ’s voice in your mind, and you tried to pull down your sleeve, but it was too late. You felt him pull you upright and drag the chair away from the fire pit.

“Your arm was on fire. It’s burned! Why were you holding your hand in the fucking fire!” With each word he said, your breathing quickened. This was normally the part you hated the most. The withdrawal from the flame. The Haunter’s shrieked in your ears and you could see them dancing in the light in front of you.

You peered down at your arm and screamed, and before you could do anything JJ had picked you up and pulled you through the French door’s of your house and onto your couch. You pushed yourself away from him, holding your hands up in front of your eyes, peering at them as though they weren’t your own.

“Y/n! I need to know what you were doing! I need to know if you are okay! Why aren’t you looking at me? Nothing’s over there. Stop! I need you to answer me!”

“JJ?” You asked faintly and glanced over at him for a second. A tear slipped down his cheek, and you could tell he wanted to touch you, but didn’t want to hurt you. “I need you to leave.” Your voice was quiet. You still could protect yourself. JJ didn’t have to know about the Haunter’s.

“I’m not going to leave you, Y/n. You were hurting yourself, and I need to know why. I need to know if this is related to why you’ve been acting weird. I need to know if you are okay.” He was sure in his tone and you understood that you wouldn’t be able to get yourself out of this. He’d seen your arm in the flame.

The Haunter’s had followed you both into the house and were trying to coax you back out of to the flame. Your eyes flickered between them and JJ, and they were all getting louder. You couldn’t hear your own breathing.

“SHUT UP! FUCKING PLEASE SHUT UP!” You screeched and your arms and legs shook. “Please. I don’t want to go out there again. I don’t want to hurt myself. Please stop trying to make me. Please. Please.” The tears glided down your cheeks as you shut your eyes. You trembled and kept repeating the word to yourself. “Please. Please. Please. I don’t want to hurt myself.”

When you stopped, the Haunter’s had quieted themselves and JJ was there and watching you.

“Y/n?” JJ took you in softly. “Please tell me what just happened.”

Still shaking hard, and glancing around to make sure the Haunter’s didn’t return, you opened your mouth. “I’m so sorry JJ. I can’t. I can’t.”

“I need to know why you were hurting yourself and what just happened. I want you to be okay, Y/n. I might be able to help.”

You let out a breath, quivering. “I see things, and I hear things. And they tell me bad things. They tell me to hurt myself, and to kill myself. They never leave me alone. They want me to die. They make me believe I want to die. The doctor calls it schizophrenia. I call it my own death sentence.” Your words slipped from your throat. JJ didn’t pull away, instead, he lay a hand on your thigh and ran a finger through your hair.

“Are they talking right now?” He whispered, and you nodded, tears creating a damp spot on your shirt. He nodded back, and held your fingertips against his own. “I need you to listen to only my voice, y/n. Focus on my voice. I know it's hard, but you have to.

“I’m so thankful you told me. I was so worried about you. I still am. But I can try to help you now. You aren’t alone anymore. You will always be importa-” JJ’s voice faded and you looked over away from his eyes at the Haunter’s, who were starting to reappear.

“I’m right here, Y/n. Look at me, I’m right here.” He touched the sides of your face and positioned your eyes so they stared into his own.

“You will always be important to me. I’m willing to fight with you. I love you so much, and you can’t let them tell you differently.”

“I don’t even know if you are real, JJ. I can’t tell anymore. I want to believe you, I promise. But it’s really hard.”

JJ lead your hands to his sides, where his hips met his body, and then to his stomach and abs, and to his shoulders, and around to the sides of his face. “I”m real. I’m right here, and I’m real. I know it's hard to believe me. I understand. But for me, you need to. I can’t lose the only thing that I don’t want to burn. I’m real. And I’m here for you.”

#jj maybank #john b #obx #outerbanks #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #fanfic #jj #pope heyward #john b routledge #outer banks angst #jj angst #angst

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bleedingsandshq · 4 years

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[ EMMA STONE, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER, 29 ] Whenever I hear EVERYBODY WANTS TO BE FAMOUS by SUPERORGANISM it always makes me think of CHANNING LARSON. They have been so DETERMINED & CHARMING, but occasionally they have gotten a little bit DRAMATIC & DISHONEST through the years. They currently work as a LOUNGE SINGER. DIMLY LIT BARS CLOUDED WITH SMOKE, LIPS PERFECTLY STAINED WHILE NAIL POLISH CHIPS AWAY, RECORD’S PILED UNKEMPT DUSTY WITHOUT USE make them easy to spot on the strip.

HEADCANONS

Channing is the type of person who puts on a front. If people don’t know what she’s lost out on in her past, it may as well not exist. It’s easier for her to put on a front and play happy opposed to face her failures, opposed to facing the fact that she was left behind. She’s the type of person who fantasizes about everything. She carries unrealistic, idealized expectations about what things are/could be, her brain operating as if it were its own movie.

Her ex disappeared without a trace. While the idea’s there that he was disposed of, Channing still wonders if there’s more to it than that. That’s what’s filled her with the idea that she could get involved herself involved with Vegas’ darker underbelly despite underestimating what it might be all about.

There’s an insecure part of herself who likes to believe that it was through other methods, beyond any sort of lack of talent she possesses, that her role was lost. Seeking out these reasons, points she might blame others, to not focus on herself on her own failures.

BACKGROUND

Channing Larson always dreamed of having it all. Green hues never on the prize, but what might lay just beyond. The proverbial what’s next that lingered in everyone’s mind, a craving for more, to have something she seemed not to be destined for that would define her to the very core. A tragedy if there ever was one, some would say, to want something so badly but never obtain. An obsession for fame spurred by the words of her late grandmother, of who she spent the better half of her formative years with. Hours spent in front of the television watching the classics — the likes of Hepburn, Wood, and Kelly lighting up the screen. “That could be you some day.” She believed it full heartedly, seeing nothing for her future past fame. The bright lights of Hollywood itself just beyond the horizon, or as the only child’s parents were constantly reminded: exactly an hour and twelve minutes away — without traffic. Skipping out on the things kids normally enjoyed growing up, the young redhead dedicated her time to auditions, to vocal lessons, to the off chance that she might be discovered. The funny thing about fame, however, is that no matter how passionate one might be, the spotlight doesn’t shine upon all.

Years upon years of failed auditions did little to dissuade Channing that she was meant for it. Into her twenties with nothing but sparse background roles to her name, her parents decided that they would take no more. Their daughter’s time would be better spent following a “realistic” path opposed to the one she’d set herself on. They’d no longer fund her attempts, cutting her off after refusal to continue her education. With the mindset that any day might be the day she made it, Channing still held out. Meeting a new type of struggle trying to stay afloat financially and still find time to make auditions. For years she lived that way, barely scraping by living paycheck to paycheck, finding less and less time to pursue her passions. That was until, as all cliché stories go, until she met a boy.

One of connections, or so he said. Making a habit of frequenting open mic nights, telling herself it was a way, a note to pen that she’d not given up entirely on her dreams though inwardly confidence was slowly chipping away. For a moment, it seemed as if her stubbornness to keep going had finally paid off. Whether she was smitten by the world he knew or the man himself, is something to this day Channing doesn’t speak of. A man of the underworld, it was all too easy to get roped in. Doing small things here and there, pick ups and drop offs of things she didn’t ask — landing herself larger paychecks than she’d seen in her entire life, all to do nothing more than turn a blind eye. It made her feel invigorated, no longer relying on countless waitressing jobs to keep food on her table. He was her savior, one who promised her things he could never give, soft whispered lies of the life she positively craved.

The timing had been perfect, it would be the role of a lifetime, a final shot. The audition nailed, Channing was offered a starring role within days. Shooting in Vegas, an opportunity opened for her one and only no sooner. Moving there as a couple, with but a week left until filming began, the supposed starlet was let go. That would be the moment her life started crumpling around her. Traded in for a bigger name, someone who’d draw in crowds, she was left to Vegas with nothing but the man at her side. Little did she know he had connections in things that’d land a price on his head, that he owed, that he’d ditch her alone in the tourist town without so much as a goodbye. Nearly two years since the night he left, Channing to picking up the pieces on her own. Picking up a job at a hotel lounge as a singer at on the strip . It wasn’t the best, nor was it the life she had in mind, but it was something. In attempt to figure out why her lover left, she followed a path back into the underworld, a path towards Vegas’ underbelly. Proving herself as useful as she could doing running the same games as she did back in California, she itches for more, a pledge of loyalty to the anyone might take her. A false persona worn day to day of the past she’d like to claim, of the life she still yearns for.

CHANNING IS CURRENTLY CLOSED & WRITTEN BY BOBBI.

#sands.closed #sands.unaffiliated

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anqelwiithhxrns · 5 years

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CHARACTER STUDY › VIVIENNE PIERCE

❝ IF YOU’RE WANTING TO KNOW how the visions work , sometimes they induce by someone or something but not always . . . i’ve had visions every since i could remember really. my mother once told me when i was little i would speak of things minutes before they ever happened. ❞

01. BIOGRAPHY

vivienne pierce , born viviana petrova ( bulgarian: вивиана петрова ) was born , along side older her twin sister katerina petrova into a noble & wealthy bulgarian family on june 5 , 1473. vivienne developed her powers of being a seer at a young age. she began experiencing strange & repetitive dreams. the dreams were so vivid & usually didn’t make any sense. the more she tried to ignore & suppress them , the more they intensified. intially mistaking them for nightmares at first , vivenne would wake up in the middle of the night , scared & would crawl into katherine’s bed to spend the rest of the night. soon the dreams becmae more realistic that she couldn’t tell if she was dreaming or awake.

shortly after turning sixteen , vivienne began having visions of klaus. unwillingly , she would see him in her mind - him plundering villages , sinking his teeth into nameless victims , him drawing beautiful works of art. she could see glimpse of his past & future.

vivienne foresaw , katherine giving birth even before she knew she was with child.

in 1490 her sister was disowned by their father because she brought shame upon their family after giving birth out of wedlock leading her to be exiled to england & vivienne went along with her. she quickly assimilated into english culture & met two nobleman brothers , niklaus & elijah mikaelson. she was attract to klaus despite knowing what he was , but in time she learned her & katherine were petrova doppelgangers & klaus was planning on using them as a sacrifice in order to break the curse that bound his werewolf side. she sabotaged his plan by fleeing with her sister , taking the moonstone which bound the curse & tricked rose into giving them her blood which led the twins to turn into vampires. because vivienne was no longer a seer , her blood no longer was a visible component of the ritual to undo the curse. klaus was so infuriated with her sabotage , that the pierce sisters were forced to live on the run for over 500 years as he hunted them down.

at at some point between the 15th & 19th centuries , she took on the alias “vivienne pierce” ( an anglicized version of her birth name ) & eventually met & befriended pearl , anna , & emily bennett. in the late 19th century , she travelled to mystic falls , where she met stefan & damon salvatore , whose family hosted her at the salvatore estate. she later fell in love with the eldest salvatore brother , & subsequently fed him her blood , resulting in his eventual transitions into vampire after him & his brother were killed by their father in early autumn of 1864. when the founder’s council found out the identities of the vampires in town , vivienne & katherine faked their deaths & escaped being sealed in the tomb with the aid of george lockwood , who helped her in exchange for the moonstone.

in 2010 , vivienne & katherine came up with a plan to finally earn their freedom from klaus by handing over the petrova doppelgngers that came after them ( louise & elena gilbert ). to sweeten the potential deal with klaus , she killed caroline forbes ( who had damon’s blood in her system ) & later transitioned into a vampire. she conjured up a plan to trick mason & tyler lockwood into triggering their werewolf curses , just so they could each also serve as the vampire & werewolf sacrifices necessary in the ritual. she even tracked down the moonstone so that she could give klaus every component necessary to break his curse. however , the plans ultimately fell through, vivienne as well as her sister , katherine fled mystic falls again shortly after klaus broke his hybrid curse on his own , knowing that he was not done punishing them for their betrayal half a millennium ago.

02. APPERANCE

almost every character who has met any combination of the petrova doppelgängers has remarked that vivienne looked identical to louise , diana & or athina. she also shares a similar resemblance to her sister & her doppelgangers ( elena , tatia & amara ). vivienne is an extraordinarily beautiful & seductive young woman : she has an oval face with fine bone structure , a wealth of brown curly hair , & almond-shaped , deep brown eyes with thick dark lashes. vivienne & louise are remarked to be identical , but once you know what to look for , you can distinguish the two easily. vivienne’s hair seemed to be a shade darker than louise’s. while they both wear a middle part , louise wears her hair stick-straight , while vivienne’s hair has natural loose or tight curls.

whenever vivienne pretends to be louise , she would wear her hair straight. however, vivienne would choose clothes that louise wouldn’t wear & the main distinguishing feature was usually her thick abundance of hair.

03. POWERS & ABILITIES

as a seer , vivienne had the ability to see into the past , present & future. when she turned, she possessed all the standard powers & abilities of a non-original vampire. she has shown to be a very experienced fighter , being 538 years old made vivienne one of the most powerful vampires to appear in the series.

04. NAME

vivienne is the common female french form of vivian, original a boy’s name via an old french form of the late latin vivianus which comes from “vivus” meaning ‘alive.’ viviana means ‘alive, vibrant, lively’

petrov/petroff ( masculine ) or petrova ( feminine ) is one of the most common surnames in both russia and bulgaria. the surname is derived from the first name pyotr ( Пётр, russian ) or petar ( Петър, bulgarian ) , both equivalent to the english name peter. petrov means “son of peter” in russian and bulgarian.

#vivienne pierce #character study #headcanon #allaboutocs #ocappreciation

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haniiwrites · 6 years

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untitled ii

He’s awakened by the now familiar sounds of mechanisms whirring, gears creaking, and engines groaning. Ryder opens his green eyes and groans himself, sitting up slowly and leaning his elbows on his knees. God- was he ever going to get used to this? The moving, the shifting, the--

Automatically, he looks to the bed behind him, searching to find the warm body that he felt beside him. There was none. Of course, that warm body was, like it had been for the past few months, a dream. Eoin was dead. Eoin had been dead for months. Ryder was- he was alone. Alone. Alone.

Ryder rubs his forehead and turns back around, sitting correctly and yawning as he feels the all-too accustomed stab of pain that occurred whenever he thought of Eoin- which was almost all the time. His warm hands, a darker tone that his own pale ones. His brown eyes, that reminded him of chocolate. His laugh-- “Fuck,” he mutters, stretching his arms out and sighing, letting his limbs relax for a second.

He cracks his ankles, and then his wrists. Eoin always hated the sound, he remembers. For the next few languid moments,Ryder preoccupies himself with staring at the wall directly before him, observing the grand details, the orange, the gold, the bluish lights; he’s busying himself with taking it all in as his mind shifts into gear and gets to work locking this favourite Scot away.

Why was it that Eoin was dead, yet Ryder always always always expected him to come back? Walk in through a doorway and start apologising profusely, as he always did, ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he’d murmur, ‘I- well, I got held up at the market,’ and he’d smile as if to say he’s sorry once more. Ryder would have none of that, he’d run to him, embrace him tightly, smell his hair, and close his eyes. They’d stay there and Eoin would think him bizarre, and-- ‘I just missed you,’ Ryder would explain, as if that would say it all.

And it does.

But, that wasn’t going to happen. A realistic part of his mind reminded him of it, this part less cruel than the part that let him believe such nonsense. Eoin is dead.

Ryder stands up, gulping, sighing, giving up on his morning thoughts. There. Eoin was behind lock and key again, Ryder no longer thought of his warm brown eyes, his rich laughter, his lightly tanned skin.

Well, he’s locked up for the day. He’ll be out again tomorrow, ready to rip open the wounds that Ryder tries so desperately to keep shut.

He staggers over to the door, leaning against the metallic frame, letting the coolness of the metal wake him up and draw him away from the thoughts of Eoin. Brendon steps out and walks down the corridor towards the main room of this... thing.

Ryder enters the console room and sees that strange man. Said man is leaning over the various controls and flashing lights, whispering to them. Ryder arches an eyebrow in confusion (really, confusion is long overdue,) and clears his throat, watching the man intently as he whirls around when it’s known that Ryder is in the room. “Oh, hello!” He says cheerily, smiling a rather goofy smile.

“Yeah,” is all Ryder says in response. He advances forward into the console room, seemingly uninterested by all the gadgets, the lights, and the knobs. “Anywhere special today?” He asks softly. None of this was making him feel better. None of the beautiful worlds. None of the rich history of his own Earth. None of it.

The strange man elbows him and then claps his hands together, “Yes! Of course! I’m the Doctor, you think that there’s anywhere not special that I’ll take you?” He tsks and snaps his fingers, pointing into the air, “Oh, you’ll really like this,” he says and Ryder just grunts.

The green-eyed man is more than sure that he isn’t going to like anything the Doctor is planning to show him. There- there wasn’t much that he liked. Well, not anymore at least. What was the point, really?

He remembered the first day he met the Doctor. Ryder was walking down the Seine, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders slumped, overall appearance of a defeated man who had long since given up on life and all that it held.

It was three weeks after Eoin’s death.

How he survived for so long without taking a bullet to the brain or jumping into the Seine on a cold winter’s day was a miracle to him. Ryder had given up, there was only a matter of time until he did the smart thing and offed himself.

Ryder saw happy people surrounding him, happy couples, happy children, happy boys and happy girls. Why were they so happy? Didn’t the notice? Didn’t they notice that the most important person on the planet had died?

He had no one. Ryder had absolutely no one to go to. A week ago, he was rejected by his sister, his darling sister who he loved. He found himself on the streets of London, looking for her home, a grand apartment in the city, he must’ve been close... It was a surprise she even let him in, he realised after he had been kicked out. She invited him in, voice icier than it had ever been with him. Aeryn was more than simply distant. She was hateful, Ryder could see that much in her eyes. ‘Aeryn,’ he’d said weakly, ‘Eoin...’ the name came out strangled and miserable, and Aeryn cut him off with a gesture of her hand. Things went down hill from there, they fought, she called him worthless, renounced him as her brother, said that she wanted nothing to do with him.

Less than a minute later, he was again on the street before her house, looked down on scornfully by his sister, the only thing left in the world that he loved.

And now, he had no one.

Then, just then, a gangly man appeared and crashed into him, causing Ryder to trip and fall forward, hands too caught up in his pockets to actually catch himself before colliding with the floor. The man instantly hopped up and apologised, “Hello there- I- well my-” he scrambled to help Ryder off and Ryder pushed him away, “Piss off,” he muttered, rubbing his chin and checking his hand, seeing blood. “Jesus bloody fuck...”

The man looked at him peculiarly, something flashing through his eyes that Ryder couldn’t really name at all. For a moment or three they locked eyes, the man’s eyes searching his own while Ryder simply stared at him and told him to piss the fuck off, what are you-- “Hurry now!” The man said, grabbing his fingerless gloved hands, pulling him along and away, “Can’t let them catch us!” Ryder had no time to stop or ask what exactly is chasing the man not us-- he was simply stolen away, bloody chin, running along hand in hand with this--

Ryder completely stopped, ripping his hand from the man’s, huffing, “You- not my hand just no,” he was almost screaming, his voice was loud and he was frantic, this man held his hand-- “No! You- You can’t!” The man just peered at him, eyes wide at his explosion-- “Now, now,” the man says, “We’ve got to-- ah,” he craned his neck to look over Ryder’s shoulder, “Okay- you may have your little, just,” the man grabbed his arm and dragged him, beginning to run again, “No time for dying today!”

He was pulled around a corner and down a dank alleyway. Ryder was met with a tall blue policebox that-- wasn’t that old?Ryder was shoved inside and the man slammed the door behind him.

Ryder’s hood fell forward and over his face and eyes, “What the fuck, man?!” He yelled, pushing the hood away and-- Ryder’s eyes grew wide, it was-- what the hell? “I don’t--”

The man laughed from behind him and clapped him on the back. Ryder looked at him, clearly confused, and the man merely looked back at him, eyes full of wonder. Ryder’s haw dropped as his eyes surveyed the room, “It’s--”

“Bigger on the inside,” the man says, smiling widely. Ryder ripped his eyes from their observations and glanced at the man, noting that the smile didn’t reach his eyes, not all the way. Ryder was all too familiar with those sorts of smiles, they’d be come a daily doing after Eoin...

“Ryder,” he said, clearing his throat, “Ryder from Beaconsfield,” being around Eoin so often had made him sound rather humble when saying the city he was from, a well-known area with many rich people. Surrounded by muggles, of course, but, it was the best area. And, they were hidden. The Trevenas didn’t need to interact with them at all.

The man threw his arms up in the air, “Ah! He speaks!” A cheer was given and another clap on the back, then a gesture around the room, “Well then Ryder from Beaconsfield, you’ve just stumbled in upon the greates--”

“Excuse me? You dragged me in here.”

The man tutted, “Only because your life was in danger.” Ryder refused to believe or even listen to the man any further. He shrugged off his arm and glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “Right,” the man seemed to sense the way Ryder was feeling (not that it was very hidden at all,) and he cleared his throat himself, “Now, Ryder from Beaconsfield,” the man said, hoity-toity accent clear through that half-smile, “you’re about to embark on a WONDROUS journey through--”

“I don’t know your name,” Ryder deadpanned, arms crossed. This would be a nice way to go, he thinks, with a psycho in a fucked up police box.

“I am, Mr. Ryder from Beaconsfield, the Doctor,” and said Doctor gave a wave of his right hand, “hello!” He said excitedly.

Ryder peered at him as if he was looking at some sort of complex puzzle. If he were Eoin, Ryder thought, then he could be friends with this man, he could be friends and be kind but-- Eoin was... Ryder gulped, “Yeah, hello,” he mutters, walking further into the main room, “bigger on the inside,” he repeated the Doctor’s previous words, “and the Doctor.” He pursed his lips, “I don’t really...”

“Well of course you don’t, Ryder from Beaconsfield, this was very unexpected, the lovely unexpected Doctor!” He laughed, “This!” The Doctor swung around, arms motioning to the grand room they were in, “Is the main control room of my beautiful TARDIS,”

Ryder cracks a semi-amused smile, green eyes glancing around and taking everything in. He was in a blue police box that was bigger on the inside with a man called the Doctor. “Hm,”

“I don’t get it,” he says, uncrossing his arms, “1977,” his voice, as usual, is monotonous. That was a part of him that the Doctorhad failed to change. They’d spoken one time, selecting certain parts of their pasts to divulge to one another, Ryder telling himsome things about Eoin, the Doctor telling Ryder some things about a certain Amy and Rory. They’d sighed, they’d drank, they’d fallen asleep together and awakened staring at one another, utterly confused.

“1977!” the Doctor flips various switches, “So many things in this little itty bitty year- years are so short, you don’t even-” a grunt as he smashes his hand down on a rather large and rather stuck button, “realise that, Ryder.” After various travels together, at least a few months if Ryder kept track correctly, the Doctor had dropped the ‘from Beaconsfield,’ and stuck to just ‘Ryder,’

“Yeah?” He challenges slightly, stepping towards the control panel and dragging his finger around the spaces between switches and knobs turn that will you? and he does, smirking slightly. “1977. Year of my birth--”

“The Clash! The Clash and- so many other,” another grunt and then a twirl on the Doctor’s heels, “things! Last time the guillotine used in France, you know that?” He puts his hands on his own neck and gulps audibly, “Not going to lie- Djandoubi deserved it, that poor, poor girl...” For half a second, the Doctor is silent, but he pops back up and coughs once, “1977. January.”

Ryder arches an eyebrow at him, suspicious of the Doctor and his plans. They were never honest with one another, and this was not going to be an exception, or so Ryder assumed. “Why?”

The Doctor leaned on his elbows, “Hm?”

“I asked why, Doctor.” Ryder narrowed his eyes at the man, “Why 1977. Why January. There’s a method to your fucked up madness, so gladly enlighten me.” His narrowed gaze shifts into a familiar scowl. “Well?”

“We’re going to visit little Eoin!” The Doctor’s smile is wary and he looks about ready to run down the corridors to escapeRyder’s wrath.

It took a lot of time for Ryder to get used to the idea of a blue police box that’s bigger on the inside, that he’s to be travelling through time with some sort of alien-- ‘Two hearts!’ For the first week or so he didn’t believe the man at all, calling him crazed and yet not leaving at all-- this is better than death, he supposed, better than drowning in the Seine, like he had been planning.

“So you just- travel.” Ryder’s voice was low and soft, he was leaning on a railing and crossing his arms, “Around--”

“Time and Space, Ryder, Time and Space,” the Doctor explained, grinning widely as he carelessly fiddled with trinkets and fidgeted around the main console area, “Right,” Ryder said in response, “Always alone?”

The Doctor didn’t answer right away. Ryder noticed his hesitation, the pain that flashed through his eyes and so arched an eyebrow in his direction, “They leave you. Understandable,” Ryder continued and hummed softly, walking languidly towards him, “M’sorry, mate,” he clapped him on the back, “You’re how old?”

The Alien changed and stood up straight, “Over 900 years old, Ryder. And I’ve got the lovely little face of a cherub,” Ryderscoffed at that, “Face of a haggard old man, more like it,” he corrected, wandering over to the railing once more, “Where to today then, Doctor?” He asked with a pique of interest, trying to pull the Doctor away from thinking of the loneliness of his existence.

“Paris! To meet Osc--”

Ryder shook his head, “Not Paris. Please not Paris,” his voice was low, soft, obviously pained. Not Paris, anywhere but Paris. Paris was where they lived, Paris was where they loved, not Paris-- he didn’t want to suffer through that once more. “Not Paris,Doctor, not Paris...”

The Doctor winced, “Right, right! Not Paris, not Paris, silly old Doctor let himself forget something important-- Somewhere else! Somewhere lovely and perfect and-- ah! Asgard! Lovely place for picnicking!” The Doctor laughed nervously, flipping switches again and again, “Hold on Ryder, hold on.”

Ryder did as told, hands gripping onto the railing as the TARDIS shook and whirled around, stomach twisting itself into a knot, already dreading the idea of picnicking. What if Eoin had lived? What if he had lived and survived and got over his disease?Ryder would’ve given anything, anything to hold him once more. Ryder would’ve done anything possible-- one more picnic. One more embrace.

Just one.

The TARDIS’ gears turned and shifted, the familiar sound of its protesting mechanisms calming Ryder even as the machine threatened to thrash him about the main control room. Everything went topsy-turvy, the room spun with the TARDIS and sharp, loud noises filled the air as Ryder’s face scrunched up.

There was a large thud, and Ryder stumbled over. “We’re here!” The Doctor cheered, arms in the air for just a moment before dropping and switching the switches back into their places. “Come now Ryder, come now,” he said, reaching over to the human and grasping at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him along, “Time to explore about this beautiful planet!”

Ryder’s stomached flipped about, but he didn’t put up any sort of a fight. “Yeah, right,” he swallowed and let the Doctor lead him about, out of the TARDIS and into a world that was bathed in light and sunshine, beauty all around as Ryder simply glanced from tree to archaic buildings that only added to the luxurious ambiance of the city.

“This, Ryder, is Asgard’s capital!” The Doctor dropped the fabric that he was pulling Ryder by and gestured all around to the new planet that they were on. Ryder took a deep breath and looked from side to side, smiling slightly, “He’d have liked this, you know,”

“Who?” The Doctor asked without thinking, “Oh. Right. Really? He one of those- one of them-”

“Likes beautiful things. Elegant. Never one to spend money,” I never really knew why he fell in love with me... “One for the simple lovely things, exploring this place would’ve been...” Ryder sighed and palmed at his eyes for a moment, rubbing away tears that brimmed there, “Oh, he’d have loved this so much.”

Then it was the Doctor’s turn to clap Ryder on the back, “C’mon, explore it for him then, eh?” Ryder nodded and gulped, “For him, yeah,” he smiled a little and looked to the alien that had brought him there, “Yeah,” Ryder repeated, beginning to walk along the grass towards the shining city he saw in the distance.

Eoin would’ve loved this...

The only thing that Ryder knows he can feel in this moment is complete and utter rage. “What.” His voice is strained and he’s breathing in short, shallow breaths. Visiting. Eoin. What the fuck was the Doctor thinking? “Doctor.” It’s pure malice he feels, what the Doctor deserves is a good sock to the face.

“Now, Now,” the Doctor says, trying to sooth the rage that Ryder was feeling, “I only meant to--”

“No! You can’t just! You don’t know what I feel, you can’t just fucking assume to understand everything that happens to humansbecause you aren’t us.” Ryder’s screaming and yelling and he doesn’t know what to do. After so much time spent together, theDoctor thought that he could just do such a thing? Hurl Ryder right back into his pain? “Eoin- Eoin left me, Eoin-- He’s dead,” the last word comes out strangled and pained and Ryder grips the edge of the control panel, leaning over and swallowing large gulps of air in order to not punch the hell out of the Doctor.

“Ryder you’re hurting and- this is a gift--”

He doesn’t answer. Ryder keeps himself quiet, knuckles turning white with the death grip he keeps on the metal before him. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In-- “I can’t do this, Doctor,” he can’t-- Ryder knows that he can’t physically go out there-- “He- not born yet- no.”

“I’m giving you a chance, Ryder from Beaconsfield,” there’s a nickname Ryder hasn’t heard in a while. A glance proves that theDoctor had smiled as he spoke the name. “You-- Growing up with him.” He’s disregarding everything. Disregarding the order of Time and Space, ignoring the way things must go by wanting to drop Ryder off and leave him there in 1977, in the middle of Scotland-- Ryder’s breath is shaking, “I miss him, Doctor,” and the Doctor doesn’t answer that, he simply nears Ryder and sympathetically rubs his back.

Asgard wasn’t as great as he thought it would be. Maybe that was because he was imagining how different things would’ve been if Eoin had been there to spend time with him, to explore, to meet all the people, to help the Doctor. “It’s beautiful,” he said as they inched toward the TARDIS, night seemingly settling on the grand planet.

“Odin can sure host some party, yeah?” And the Doctor wiggled out a sort of dance, causing Ryder to simply roll his eyes. Eoin would’ve laughed at that, he thought. “Yeah,” he answered finally, following the alien into his time machine and closing the door behind them.

“So, Ryder,” the human arched an eyebrow in the direction of the Doctor, “Yes?”

“What was he like?” He asked brashly, with slight hints of sympathy and sincerity in his voice. It was clear that he wanted Ryderto talk about the thing-- the person-- he loved most. To make him happy, to make him remember and see him smile the way that it seemed that only Eoin could.

Ryder smiled a pained smile, “Ah...” He said, combing his fingers through his shaggy hair and then scratching at the scruff growing on his chin and jaw, “He was... He was happy...” And with that, Ryder slowly pushes off shore and gently sets sail onto that proverbial sea of memories, sharing only the very best and happy ones.

He started to tell the Doctor of their times in school, how they fell together, fell apart, and together again. He told him of the times they fought and hurt one another and cried, the times that they wandered off the campus and into the forest, Rydervowing to protect Eoin from anything that would attack. He told him of their picnics in the Astronomy Tower...

At the end, he was crying. “Sorry, fuck,” he muttered, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, “He was-- I just. Yeah...”

And the Doctor looked like he knew the feeling all too well, the feeling of loss and happiness, missing that one person, missing the person that completed them.

#-#--#---#----#-----#c;ryder trevena #d;ryder trevena #v;dw #drabbles

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