An Eye for Beauty
Title: An Eye for Beauty
Author: sadeinightshade
Rating: NC-17
Primary Pairing: Linbu
Secondary Pairing(s): Vam
Minor Pairing(s): We’ll just have to wait and find out.
Summary: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Sometimes that eye needs to be opened.
Notes: This one isn’t entirely my fault, if you’ll see the dedication and disclaimer. It should be a fun write, but I’m not entirely sure how long it’ll take. You should know me by now. XP
Warning: Serious AU.
Dedication: To elterriblefizzy, for entertaining the simple notion that Burton must be a porn star. A late night phone call can do a lot for a slasher in need.
Disclaimer: I own no-one in this story. The premise of the story can be accredited to elterriblefizzy. The only thing that I own is the story itself and anyone that you truly don’t recognize (not sure that’ll happen, though). It is, of course, not intended to mar the reputations of any of the parties involved, so no disrespect if they ever get a hold of it. I don’t know them, can’t own them, and I make no money from any of this, so don’t sue.
----
Brandon Cole Margera-more commonly known as Bam for reasons only his nearest and dearest truly knew-was a young writer, editor, producer, and director. He acted on occasion, but called himself shit. He was most satisfied with his imagery and occasional skating. He was young, but he was not naïve; he was not dumb; he was not deaf; he was, most certainly, not blind. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Bam had a way of taking the most gnarled of things and making them into works of art. Things that most thought beautiful, he made even more so. All that was needed were the right colors, the right angles, and the right light. He could make art of anything. He could make the raunchiest of pornography an absolute work of art.
And that was what he was called upon to do now, as he sat before a writer, an older man. He looked dissatisfied with the script, but his mind was already at work. The writer did not look happy with Bam’s expression. He reached out to take his script, but Bam’s hand caught his so quickly that he jumped.
“It’s shit,” he said plainly, looking into dark, narrowed eyes, “but,” he added hastily and the older man lowered himself slowly into his chair again, “I think I can do something with it. I’m gonna edit it, I’m gonna flesh it out, and you’re gonna like it.”
Another thing about Bam was that he spoke true, and few turned him down because of that. His methods were simple, yet quite effective. Sometimes he was reckless, but the end result could be absolutely brilliant. And he was coming up with a reckless plan, or so said his gleaming blue eyes. He knew who he wanted for this film. It would just be a matter of getting him there.
--
Janne Purtinnen-best known as Emerson Burton, or just Burton-was the star that Bam wanted. He knew of Bam’s work. He had seen some of it before. He was faced with it properly then. Burton had a scrutinizing eye. He was no more deaf, dumb, naïve, or blind than Bam. He knew what he enjoyed working with. He knew if his films would be a flop. But he, like Bam, was dissatisfied with the script when he read through it. It lacked substance. It was all just a bunch of pointless sex. There was no story.
“It’s missing a lot,” said the blue-eyed man before him, “but the dude gave me full rights to the thing. He’ll get his pay for his part, but I’m gonna fill in the gaps.”
Burton liked Bam’s way of thinking. He even liked the younger man’s way of speaking. He never spoke to him as if he were stupid. His words were not slow. His tones were far from the monotonous drone that he was used to. He was anything but quiet, but he was also not the type of loud that most treated foreigners with.
Bam carried energy and even a sense of respect-though many would say otherwise-that so many in the industry lacked.
He studied Bam for a while and then said, quite simply, “Fill in the gaps, send me the script, and then we’ll talk again.”
“You were the first person I called,” said Bam as he rested his head on one hand. “I haven’t talked to anyone else. I just want you to know that, alright? I hope I can make it work for you.”
He was sincere in his words. Burton admired that. When they parted, it was with a firm handshake and a look of promise. If Bam failed to achieve what he wanted to, he would, perhaps, call Burton back for another project, better suited for him. If Bam called, Burton would be there.
They nodded to one another and parted in silence.
--
Mikko Lindström-or Linde for short-was neither artist, nor actor. He was just a bystander of sorts, fortunate enough to see what went on behind the scenes for some movies. The one that he got a call for was most unexpected. He was never given the title. Just a single name: Bam Margera. It was stamped on some of his video collection. He may not have always enjoyed the content, but he always enjoyed the artistry. He enjoyed the musical and visual aspect of them the most, for he was a musician as well as a soundman.
Never had he dreamed that he would work with Bam. And never would he dream that he would step into the same room as Emerson Burton all those weeks later. His heart raced when he saw him, his intense brown eyes focused his script. From what little he had heard, Bam had had to heavily revise the screenplay. The fact that Burton-Burton!-was even there said one thing: He had done a good job of it.
But it seemed as if, when he looked up, he looked right through Linde.
This was going to be difficult.
--
Ville Valo-no name change needed-was the mastermind behind the music for the film-to-be. He, too, was fortunate to work with Bam. He, too, was fortunate to lay eyes on Burton. Bam had heard the smallest licks of his music and fallen in love, it was said. In love with Ville’s words; in love with Ville’s voice.
And Ville was stricken by more than Bam’s imagery. He was stricken by the beauty of the man himself. It was his eyes-those brilliant, intense blue eyes-and that angelic face. And Bam seemed to pay quite a bit of attention to him. Bam’s eyes played over him as if he were a work of art. Ville certainly thought differently. He thought that Bam was the work of art.
When Bam smiled, he smiled back, but he wondered why Bam began to keep him so near.
“Your eyes,” said the younger man. “I might need to use your eyes. Can you act, too?”
He was startled by the question. He never saw anything special about his eyes. Many people had green eyes. But many people had blue eyes as well. They were stricken by one another’s eyes. It made Ville smile inwardly when he said “I don’t know, but I can try, Bammie boy.”
“Bammie boy,” Bam had chuckled as he went off to revise the script once more, “I like that.”
----
If no one comments, this one goes into the Land of Nod, never to be finished.
Author: sadeinightshade
Rating: NC-17
Primary Pairing: Linbu
Secondary Pairing(s): Vam
Minor Pairing(s): We’ll just have to wait and find out.
Summary: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Sometimes that eye needs to be opened.
Notes: This one isn’t entirely my fault, if you’ll see the dedication and disclaimer. It should be a fun write, but I’m not entirely sure how long it’ll take. You should know me by now. XP
Warning: Serious AU.
Dedication: To elterriblefizzy, for entertaining the simple notion that Burton must be a porn star. A late night phone call can do a lot for a slasher in need.
Disclaimer: I own no-one in this story. The premise of the story can be accredited to elterriblefizzy. The only thing that I own is the story itself and anyone that you truly don’t recognize (not sure that’ll happen, though). It is, of course, not intended to mar the reputations of any of the parties involved, so no disrespect if they ever get a hold of it. I don’t know them, can’t own them, and I make no money from any of this, so don’t sue.
----
Brandon Cole Margera-more commonly known as Bam for reasons only his nearest and dearest truly knew-was a young writer, editor, producer, and director. He acted on occasion, but called himself shit. He was most satisfied with his imagery and occasional skating. He was young, but he was not naïve; he was not dumb; he was not deaf; he was, most certainly, not blind. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Bam had a way of taking the most gnarled of things and making them into works of art. Things that most thought beautiful, he made even more so. All that was needed were the right colors, the right angles, and the right light. He could make art of anything. He could make the raunchiest of pornography an absolute work of art.
And that was what he was called upon to do now, as he sat before a writer, an older man. He looked dissatisfied with the script, but his mind was already at work. The writer did not look happy with Bam’s expression. He reached out to take his script, but Bam’s hand caught his so quickly that he jumped.
“It’s shit,” he said plainly, looking into dark, narrowed eyes, “but,” he added hastily and the older man lowered himself slowly into his chair again, “I think I can do something with it. I’m gonna edit it, I’m gonna flesh it out, and you’re gonna like it.”
Another thing about Bam was that he spoke true, and few turned him down because of that. His methods were simple, yet quite effective. Sometimes he was reckless, but the end result could be absolutely brilliant. And he was coming up with a reckless plan, or so said his gleaming blue eyes. He knew who he wanted for this film. It would just be a matter of getting him there.
--
Janne Purtinnen-best known as Emerson Burton, or just Burton-was the star that Bam wanted. He knew of Bam’s work. He had seen some of it before. He was faced with it properly then. Burton had a scrutinizing eye. He was no more deaf, dumb, naïve, or blind than Bam. He knew what he enjoyed working with. He knew if his films would be a flop. But he, like Bam, was dissatisfied with the script when he read through it. It lacked substance. It was all just a bunch of pointless sex. There was no story.
“It’s missing a lot,” said the blue-eyed man before him, “but the dude gave me full rights to the thing. He’ll get his pay for his part, but I’m gonna fill in the gaps.”
Burton liked Bam’s way of thinking. He even liked the younger man’s way of speaking. He never spoke to him as if he were stupid. His words were not slow. His tones were far from the monotonous drone that he was used to. He was anything but quiet, but he was also not the type of loud that most treated foreigners with.
Bam carried energy and even a sense of respect-though many would say otherwise-that so many in the industry lacked.
He studied Bam for a while and then said, quite simply, “Fill in the gaps, send me the script, and then we’ll talk again.”
“You were the first person I called,” said Bam as he rested his head on one hand. “I haven’t talked to anyone else. I just want you to know that, alright? I hope I can make it work for you.”
He was sincere in his words. Burton admired that. When they parted, it was with a firm handshake and a look of promise. If Bam failed to achieve what he wanted to, he would, perhaps, call Burton back for another project, better suited for him. If Bam called, Burton would be there.
They nodded to one another and parted in silence.
--
Mikko Lindström-or Linde for short-was neither artist, nor actor. He was just a bystander of sorts, fortunate enough to see what went on behind the scenes for some movies. The one that he got a call for was most unexpected. He was never given the title. Just a single name: Bam Margera. It was stamped on some of his video collection. He may not have always enjoyed the content, but he always enjoyed the artistry. He enjoyed the musical and visual aspect of them the most, for he was a musician as well as a soundman.
Never had he dreamed that he would work with Bam. And never would he dream that he would step into the same room as Emerson Burton all those weeks later. His heart raced when he saw him, his intense brown eyes focused his script. From what little he had heard, Bam had had to heavily revise the screenplay. The fact that Burton-Burton!-was even there said one thing: He had done a good job of it.
But it seemed as if, when he looked up, he looked right through Linde.
This was going to be difficult.
--
Ville Valo-no name change needed-was the mastermind behind the music for the film-to-be. He, too, was fortunate to work with Bam. He, too, was fortunate to lay eyes on Burton. Bam had heard the smallest licks of his music and fallen in love, it was said. In love with Ville’s words; in love with Ville’s voice.
And Ville was stricken by more than Bam’s imagery. He was stricken by the beauty of the man himself. It was his eyes-those brilliant, intense blue eyes-and that angelic face. And Bam seemed to pay quite a bit of attention to him. Bam’s eyes played over him as if he were a work of art. Ville certainly thought differently. He thought that Bam was the work of art.
When Bam smiled, he smiled back, but he wondered why Bam began to keep him so near.
“Your eyes,” said the younger man. “I might need to use your eyes. Can you act, too?”
He was startled by the question. He never saw anything special about his eyes. Many people had green eyes. But many people had blue eyes as well. They were stricken by one another’s eyes. It made Ville smile inwardly when he said “I don’t know, but I can try, Bammie boy.”
“Bammie boy,” Bam had chuckled as he went off to revise the script once more, “I like that.”
----
If no one comments, this one goes into the Land of Nod, never to be finished.