FIC: Lies I Have Created
Title: Lies I Have Created
Fandom: Jackass/Viva La Bam/CKY
Pairing: Bam Margera/Ryan Dunn
Word Count: 1,263
Rating: T
Soundless
You’re not really sure how it all started, this feeling between you and him. But you are sure it shouldn’t really be there. Something like that, it was just not alright to have tucked away inside your chest, itching and burning everything it touched. Like knives scratching from the inside out.
And it’s all because of those eyes, of that damned blue buried behind that mess of blond. If Ryan just wouldn’t look at you like that, then everything would be as it should.
But he can’t read your mind, and you sure as hell aren’t going to tell him. Because as much as you pride yourself on always saying what you‘re thinking, this is just one you are not willing to share. It’s something you never thought you would have to.
Because love means something completely different to the rest of the world, and you are nowhere near ready to define it for yourself.
Let’s drink until we bleed.
The city was alive. It's steady breathing a sure sign of this fact, the walls of it's concrete rib cage holding in the fragile tissue underneath.
An outsider would think this to be something entirely uncommon, how complex it is to live in such a confined world, and yet to have more freedom than all those who live in wide open space, surrounded by deep greens and rich soil. The anonymity alone is something to cherish, to hold in your grasp with all you have, with all you wish you did, all the while making sure there is not a soul who can take it from you.
Fame is not something you would wish upon anyone, not now. Not knowing just how much it can destroy, how quickly it can leave, with nothing but ghost pains from a forgotten limb to replace it, all cold and empty.
But the city, it fills that space, at least for a time.
So you take Ryan to that crowded sanctuary. You go and you forget for a few hours that there are obligations and constraints that no matter how much you try, you will never really be able to avoid. You go to remember what it’s like to be alone. And not the kind that eats you from the inside out, not the destroying kind of loneliness. But the soft, gentle whisper of quiet that only really comes when you are alone with someone who makes you forget what that word means.
Maybe you can sit under that consuming night alone together. You can smell the dark and touch the cold and it will be like there isn’t anything else, it will just be you and him and everything else that ever mattered will fade into the city. And you will be alone with the one person who makes you feel like you never will be again.
Expectations
The years have changed you. No longer are you the lost boy you used to be, always searching for the next big adventure, and almost killing yourself in the process.
Now the adventure has become your life. Now you all but try and kill yourself, just to see if you can. Because sometimes that’s the only thing that makes you feel any semblance of the boy you used to know.
Sometimes it’s easier to destroy all the you are, rather than acknowledge all that you can never be.
What did you leave behind?
You are destroyed.
Pulled to bits sometime in the night, by an invisible hand that is just out of reach. Chunks of yourself are missing, strewn about the floor as if by some careless butcher, useless extremities littering the white, sterile room.
Sterile. Empty. Useless.
Is this what it means to be torn in two? To feel a part of yourself slowly fading into the background, and another shadow self emerging from the stain. This is your second self. Your true self, if you let your mind even think it. And all the knowing, the scratching, the picking and prodding, will not make that damned shadow disappear back into the woodwork. You think it might just be here to stay this time, to make a claim of its own in the open air of your life, filling it's godforsaken lungs with your essence, and not letting go.
So you drink yourself to sleep, and dream of daysmonthsYEARS, when maybe the light will bend just a little bit closer to that shadow, smothering it from existence.
You almost think how funny it would be to look back on all your useless ramblings, to trace the shared expressions, the feelings, all those shadows and demons hiding between the consonants. If you would let yourself think it, you're sure there would always be something that would lead to this moment, some thread through time that pulled you to this exact second of your life. To when you are questioning just how it is that the world seems to forgive you of all your sins without a second glance. No trial. No judge to tell you your sentence. Just... freedom.
But as you are reminded every time he says your name,
‘Freedom is not free.'
and you should probably start worrying just what your price will be.
So you're back at the beginning. You are back to the destruction. To the decline. You’re back to feeling like there is a hole just beneath your ribcage, where you're sure an organ used to reside. But then you look around the room, that sterile, empty, useless room, and you start to understand.
There, buried deep under limb after useless limb, is your decaying heart. Your wretched, putrid heart thrown under the mess of your life like some forgotten paperweight. It bleeds and spills its disease all over everything it touches while that shadow looks on.
And you realize that nobody is going to save you from yourself. They can try and hope and light as many lights along the way as they can bare, but nobody can make that dark go away except for you.
But you know that he will be waiting in the sun for you, with a smile and those blessed blue eyes, and it makes it feel like just a few steps away.
Hotels and Motels
This is the beginning. And it’s brutal and lovely and everything that it ever should have been. .
It’s like long twisting words thrown about the room, tangling together into a fit of consonants and vowels. They dangle and you’re not quite sure if you should straighten them out, or if that would just be a waste of time. You think it might be, but you do it anyway. Nobody likes a mess, even when it’s a proper one.
But oh, those words, they’re like sunlight in the morning, all soft and gentle upon your skin. And you feel just what it is supposed to feel like, whatever that feeling might be. Though you don’t make much sense in the end, and your pulse is quickening into a maddening rush, all because those fragile little letters won’t unravel the way they should.
They fell from his lips, you know, but they just won’t dissipate, those stubborn words. It’s just the start, after all. The end is more than just a period away.
“I love you.”
He whispered those damned words into the cold, night air like they would change something, like they had the power to erase all that you’ve done. And God, you wish they could. With all your soul, you wish his voice could make you clean again.
Fandom: Jackass/Viva La Bam/CKY
Pairing: Bam Margera/Ryan Dunn
Word Count: 1,263
Rating: T
Soundless
You’re not really sure how it all started, this feeling between you and him. But you are sure it shouldn’t really be there. Something like that, it was just not alright to have tucked away inside your chest, itching and burning everything it touched. Like knives scratching from the inside out.
And it’s all because of those eyes, of that damned blue buried behind that mess of blond. If Ryan just wouldn’t look at you like that, then everything would be as it should.
But he can’t read your mind, and you sure as hell aren’t going to tell him. Because as much as you pride yourself on always saying what you‘re thinking, this is just one you are not willing to share. It’s something you never thought you would have to.
Because love means something completely different to the rest of the world, and you are nowhere near ready to define it for yourself.
Let’s drink until we bleed.
The city was alive. It's steady breathing a sure sign of this fact, the walls of it's concrete rib cage holding in the fragile tissue underneath.
An outsider would think this to be something entirely uncommon, how complex it is to live in such a confined world, and yet to have more freedom than all those who live in wide open space, surrounded by deep greens and rich soil. The anonymity alone is something to cherish, to hold in your grasp with all you have, with all you wish you did, all the while making sure there is not a soul who can take it from you.
Fame is not something you would wish upon anyone, not now. Not knowing just how much it can destroy, how quickly it can leave, with nothing but ghost pains from a forgotten limb to replace it, all cold and empty.
But the city, it fills that space, at least for a time.
So you take Ryan to that crowded sanctuary. You go and you forget for a few hours that there are obligations and constraints that no matter how much you try, you will never really be able to avoid. You go to remember what it’s like to be alone. And not the kind that eats you from the inside out, not the destroying kind of loneliness. But the soft, gentle whisper of quiet that only really comes when you are alone with someone who makes you forget what that word means.
Maybe you can sit under that consuming night alone together. You can smell the dark and touch the cold and it will be like there isn’t anything else, it will just be you and him and everything else that ever mattered will fade into the city. And you will be alone with the one person who makes you feel like you never will be again.
Expectations
The years have changed you. No longer are you the lost boy you used to be, always searching for the next big adventure, and almost killing yourself in the process.
Now the adventure has become your life. Now you all but try and kill yourself, just to see if you can. Because sometimes that’s the only thing that makes you feel any semblance of the boy you used to know.
Sometimes it’s easier to destroy all the you are, rather than acknowledge all that you can never be.
What did you leave behind?
You are destroyed.
Pulled to bits sometime in the night, by an invisible hand that is just out of reach. Chunks of yourself are missing, strewn about the floor as if by some careless butcher, useless extremities littering the white, sterile room.
Sterile. Empty. Useless.
Is this what it means to be torn in two? To feel a part of yourself slowly fading into the background, and another shadow self emerging from the stain. This is your second self. Your true self, if you let your mind even think it. And all the knowing, the scratching, the picking and prodding, will not make that damned shadow disappear back into the woodwork. You think it might just be here to stay this time, to make a claim of its own in the open air of your life, filling it's godforsaken lungs with your essence, and not letting go.
So you drink yourself to sleep, and dream of daysmonthsYEARS, when maybe the light will bend just a little bit closer to that shadow, smothering it from existence.
You almost think how funny it would be to look back on all your useless ramblings, to trace the shared expressions, the feelings, all those shadows and demons hiding between the consonants. If you would let yourself think it, you're sure there would always be something that would lead to this moment, some thread through time that pulled you to this exact second of your life. To when you are questioning just how it is that the world seems to forgive you of all your sins without a second glance. No trial. No judge to tell you your sentence. Just... freedom.
But as you are reminded every time he says your name,
‘Freedom is not free.'
and you should probably start worrying just what your price will be.
So you're back at the beginning. You are back to the destruction. To the decline. You’re back to feeling like there is a hole just beneath your ribcage, where you're sure an organ used to reside. But then you look around the room, that sterile, empty, useless room, and you start to understand.
There, buried deep under limb after useless limb, is your decaying heart. Your wretched, putrid heart thrown under the mess of your life like some forgotten paperweight. It bleeds and spills its disease all over everything it touches while that shadow looks on.
And you realize that nobody is going to save you from yourself. They can try and hope and light as many lights along the way as they can bare, but nobody can make that dark go away except for you.
But you know that he will be waiting in the sun for you, with a smile and those blessed blue eyes, and it makes it feel like just a few steps away.
Hotels and Motels
This is the beginning. And it’s brutal and lovely and everything that it ever should have been. .
It’s like long twisting words thrown about the room, tangling together into a fit of consonants and vowels. They dangle and you’re not quite sure if you should straighten them out, or if that would just be a waste of time. You think it might be, but you do it anyway. Nobody likes a mess, even when it’s a proper one.
But oh, those words, they’re like sunlight in the morning, all soft and gentle upon your skin. And you feel just what it is supposed to feel like, whatever that feeling might be. Though you don’t make much sense in the end, and your pulse is quickening into a maddening rush, all because those fragile little letters won’t unravel the way they should.
They fell from his lips, you know, but they just won’t dissipate, those stubborn words. It’s just the start, after all. The end is more than just a period away.
“I love you.”
He whispered those damned words into the cold, night air like they would change something, like they had the power to erase all that you’ve done. And God, you wish they could. With all your soul, you wish his voice could make you clean again.