Fic: I Dream
Okies, didn't think I would be doing this quite so soon, but well surprise, surprise, here I am posting a part of a multi-chaptered Vam story. ~sigh~ I must be insane.
Right then the details.
Title: I Dream
Rating: From PG to NC-17
Author: V-Gin (Yeah like anyone but me would want to claim to have written this. Bwahahaha!)
Warnings: This is AU, Bam and Ville never met in my little world. And their is some het-groaping and thoughts going on here. Just close your eyes at those parts and repeat to yourself 'She is going to make it all better later in the story.' Also this is not Beta-ed, cause I am evil, do you here me! EVIL!
Summery: Ville Valo lead singer of the Finnish band HIM is being haunted. (I know crap summery, couldn't think of anything else to say)
Prologue
Bam Margera hated his life, well his un-life actually. He had died around five years ago, and had been a ghost since. What he hated the most was he could have been a big name in the world, he just knew it. His videos that he had done for his brother’s band, CKY, were awesome, and not to mention the fact that he was a pretty damn good skateboarder. He had actually gotten notice, and was going somewhere. Unfortunately something had happened, Bam just wasn’t sure what. One moment he had been working on a new TV series for MTV the next he was hanging around some band and they spoke some funky other language, though to be fair they at least knew English and at times even spoke whole conversations in it, That was something that happened rather rarely.
They weren’t too bad music wise, and Bam could definitely see himself getting to like this band. They were wild and loud, and dark. Also they were rather drunk and disorderly when it came right down to it. So he was quite impressed. The songs they sang were all in English and he really liked the symbol that the singer had come up with. It would be perfect to have as the center of a tattoo, if one had a body with which to put ink on.
Bam slumped down in his chair.
Yep, he had fought for and won, a chair of his very own.
It had taken months of not being able to interact with anything else, his hands passing through tables, walls, people, and at one point the street before his body had hit the cement, and stopped. In a fit of anger and rage managed to overturn an Amp at one of the many gigs which took place in a smoky, packed bar that he had been forced to attend. He had whooped and hollered, diving head first off the stage into the audience, and winding up in the basement of the club, but not caring, cause he had actually touched something. And wasn’t that just the most fuckin awesome thing ever?
He spent the rest of the gig in the shadowy depths of the crowded storage room, trying to find out how the hell he had done it, and by the time he had felt the familiar tug of the band leaving the bar, he had at least managed to shove over a pile of Porno mags that had been left in a corner, next to a box of Kleenex. He had knocked one of them to the floor where it opened to the centerfold, and Bam leaned down to take a look, after all, living or dead, pussy was pussy. It wasn’t until he noticed some of the badly stained pages and the splotchy dried crap on the walls that he realized these mags weren’t just stored down here, this was an active usage area.
Bam quickly backed up, through a pile of boxes and leaned against the wall, shivering in disgust, at least whoever used that place hadn’t been their tonight. Then he felt the tug and followed it up to the street. It wasn’t that he had to be with the band all the time, more like he had to be in the general area. He climbed into the cab that had been hailed to take them home and sat on the floor, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t be able to see the legs passing into his body, this was better though then sitting on the crowded seats, his entire body got shivery in a really bad way when someone sat on him.
Being the type of person he was he would still disobey whatever it was that made him follow the band around, but it was always an effort in futility, things would go black and he would wake in the same room as the lead singer, or the world would go speeding around him and he would be standing on the side walk in front of the band who would just be climbing out of some vehicle. His personal favorite had been the time when the world around him began bleeding.
Rivulets of pulsing, red, warm, life’s-blood, flooded the street he was standing on, till it was up to his knees, then the street vanished, and he plunged into the red river. His eyes stung from the thick salty liquid as he tried looking around, his lungs tight from the unprepared holding of his breath. He swam furiously to find the top, flailing slightly when he found a ceiling above him, hard and unforgiving, not letting him pass through. A flash of insight, and a panging need for air, had him kicking off the obstruction, and swimming in the other direction, after all directions underwater could be easily confused, maybe he had found a floor of some sort. Just as his hand met another solid obstruction his lungs gave up and with a choked cough he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the thick stuff. The next moment the liquid was gone as though it had never been and his dry body slammed into a hard unforgiving, and above all else familiar dark hardwood floor.
Gagging, choking, and sputtering, he expelled the trapped red liquid from his lungs; staining the corner of the already disgustingly stained throw rug that the drummer wouldn’t get rid of cause it ‘really brings the room together.’ Still coughing but no longer gagging he collapsed to his side, and watched as the band entered the room, and their reactions to the mess on the rug. The new stain never could be cleaned, just when they though it had been gotten out it would show back up, as fresh and vibrant and wet as the day Bam had made it, and it was decided that it had to be chucked. This was done over much protests from the drummer who finally saw to letting it go after stepping on the corner one morning, and looking down at the sight of the still fresh bloody stain oozing up and squishing between his toes caused his still excessively drunk body to rebel and he had added to the stains himself. Bam for the most part managed to curb some of his more rebellious nature, making sure to follow the tugging, though he did so barely grudgingly.
Time passed with a dragging certainty and Bam learned more about interacting with his environment, and while they couldn’t hear his voice for shit, he still found ways to communicate that he was their just fine. ‘His’ chair always tipped over if anyone sat in it, moving it wound up in Bam, loudly moving it back when everyone else was sleeping. The one time they had thrown it out Bam had managed to drag it back up to the flat, rung the doorbell and then as the door opened, shoved the chair inside, bowling over the shocked keyboarder. The band had decided that the chair could stay, and new guests of the flat were summarily warned away from it.
Truth be told, Bam didn’t care much for the chair, it was a wooden monstrosity, not so much carved as branches from an old gnarled tree were roughly split and slotted together. It was prone to giving slivers while you were trying to get in a good position, and even with the addition of several throw pillows there was no such thing as finding comfortable spot. It was because no one really sat in it that Bam had claimed it as his own.
And their were other ways he had been letting the band know he was around, like his subtle guidance on the songs that they practiced, if Bam didn’t like a song he would let them know, subtly. Guitar strings would snap suddenly, cymbals would crash to the floor, on occasion mikes would fly across the room, or everything would become unplugged. The worst thing he had been forced to do in guiding the band, subtly of course, was the time he had completely destroyed an amp, which had caused a minor panic once flames had begun consuming the piece of equipment, but he still gave a sigh of relief that they got the message, and their cover of ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me’ would never see the light of day.
Still with as much as Bam hated his un-life, and as much as he was bored out of his mind, he had at least found something to occupy his time. His eyes looked out over the press of bodies in the apartment, not that there was enough to make the place packed; just they were really ‘cozy’ people with no concept of personal space. He sighed as someone put a glass of vodka down by his chair, then promptly knocked it over, and his eyes continued to search for what he thought of as ‘his boy’. Bam saw him leaning an arm up against one of the walls, with a girl pressed tightly to him, kissing her within an inch of her life. Lucky prick always had girls flocked around him, and Bam would sometimes feel jealous, knowing that if he had been alive still that could have been him, he could have been the one commanding so much attention.
Though Bam did have some doubts about the orientation of this guy, he seemed to wear a bit too much eye makeup and had a really girly look to him at times. He did have a fatal flaw as well, which had prompted Bam to following him. Bad luck was attracted to this guy like moths were attracted to 100-watt bulbs. Since Bam had decided to help this guy out, he had managed to keep him from getting run over, trampled, bonked on the head with various objects, stopped two muggings, and made sure that he got home okay after quite a few nights of serious drinking.
This guardian angel shit was hard work, but at least it gave him something to do. He still pulled pranks on the band member, but their was only so much that could be done by a ghost before it became more like he was trying to be malicious and not to just have a laugh. If things went to far, Bam didn’t have anyway of apologizing, (not that he would, but if necessary) he lacked control to manipulate a pen or pencil, their weren’t any handy letters laying around to push into the words, and none of the guys owned a ouiji board.
He watched, envious as pale hands slipped under a tight top, pushing it upwards, till Bam caught the flash of a pierced nipple, till a hand covered it, massaging roughly. That was another thing he missed, true enough he had sensation in his ‘body’, he still breathed, if he tried doing something really strenuous, like the time he had killed the amp, it was completely exhausting and he would find himself sweating. He slept, though not with any degree of the satisfaction he got from it before, he couldn’t smell anything, but then again he himself never got dirty, even after the blood incident, though he puked blood all over a floor, he had nothing to mark the experience on his body or clothes. He wasn’t stuck wearing the same thing day in or day out, with a little effort on his part he had discovered he could even decide what he wanted to wear, but he had no need of going to the bathroom, and though he could feel sexually excited, he couldn’t do anything about it cause he never got hard.
He hadn’t popped a nut in so long it wasn’t funny, maybe he had died of blue-balls and this was his own personal hell, cause these guys were a bunch of horny bastards. He growled lightly as his band member started getting somewhere with the female groupie, who obviously was getting off on the fact that she was going to be all but screwed in front of a room full of complete strangers, granted not many of them were paying any attention, but it was the thought really.
Bam scowled darkly, his blue eyes glaring coldly at the partier who suddenly had blocked his view. Then the man had gained further notoriety from bam with his clearly disdainful looks in Bam’s direction, or at least in the direction of his chair, and his slurred finish words, which while Bam didn’t understand them, clearly held a challenge. Then the guy staggered closer, spun around drunkenly and dropped into Bam’s chair, right on top of him.
Surging upwards Bam passed through the guy, turning sharply and looked down at the drunken bastard who had dared to take his chair. The drunk had a look of triumph on his face, and Bam clenched his fists at his sides, he was a pissed off, sexually frustrated Ghost and this was just one step too far. This guy was fuckin toast.
tbc...
Comment and critisms always welcome.
Right then the details.
Title: I Dream
Rating: From PG to NC-17
Author: V-Gin (Yeah like anyone but me would want to claim to have written this. Bwahahaha!)
Warnings: This is AU, Bam and Ville never met in my little world. And their is some het-groaping and thoughts going on here. Just close your eyes at those parts and repeat to yourself 'She is going to make it all better later in the story.' Also this is not Beta-ed, cause I am evil, do you here me! EVIL!
Summery: Ville Valo lead singer of the Finnish band HIM is being haunted. (I know crap summery, couldn't think of anything else to say)
Prologue
Bam Margera hated his life, well his un-life actually. He had died around five years ago, and had been a ghost since. What he hated the most was he could have been a big name in the world, he just knew it. His videos that he had done for his brother’s band, CKY, were awesome, and not to mention the fact that he was a pretty damn good skateboarder. He had actually gotten notice, and was going somewhere. Unfortunately something had happened, Bam just wasn’t sure what. One moment he had been working on a new TV series for MTV the next he was hanging around some band and they spoke some funky other language, though to be fair they at least knew English and at times even spoke whole conversations in it, That was something that happened rather rarely.
They weren’t too bad music wise, and Bam could definitely see himself getting to like this band. They were wild and loud, and dark. Also they were rather drunk and disorderly when it came right down to it. So he was quite impressed. The songs they sang were all in English and he really liked the symbol that the singer had come up with. It would be perfect to have as the center of a tattoo, if one had a body with which to put ink on.
Bam slumped down in his chair.
Yep, he had fought for and won, a chair of his very own.
It had taken months of not being able to interact with anything else, his hands passing through tables, walls, people, and at one point the street before his body had hit the cement, and stopped. In a fit of anger and rage managed to overturn an Amp at one of the many gigs which took place in a smoky, packed bar that he had been forced to attend. He had whooped and hollered, diving head first off the stage into the audience, and winding up in the basement of the club, but not caring, cause he had actually touched something. And wasn’t that just the most fuckin awesome thing ever?
He spent the rest of the gig in the shadowy depths of the crowded storage room, trying to find out how the hell he had done it, and by the time he had felt the familiar tug of the band leaving the bar, he had at least managed to shove over a pile of Porno mags that had been left in a corner, next to a box of Kleenex. He had knocked one of them to the floor where it opened to the centerfold, and Bam leaned down to take a look, after all, living or dead, pussy was pussy. It wasn’t until he noticed some of the badly stained pages and the splotchy dried crap on the walls that he realized these mags weren’t just stored down here, this was an active usage area.
Bam quickly backed up, through a pile of boxes and leaned against the wall, shivering in disgust, at least whoever used that place hadn’t been their tonight. Then he felt the tug and followed it up to the street. It wasn’t that he had to be with the band all the time, more like he had to be in the general area. He climbed into the cab that had been hailed to take them home and sat on the floor, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t be able to see the legs passing into his body, this was better though then sitting on the crowded seats, his entire body got shivery in a really bad way when someone sat on him.
Being the type of person he was he would still disobey whatever it was that made him follow the band around, but it was always an effort in futility, things would go black and he would wake in the same room as the lead singer, or the world would go speeding around him and he would be standing on the side walk in front of the band who would just be climbing out of some vehicle. His personal favorite had been the time when the world around him began bleeding.
Rivulets of pulsing, red, warm, life’s-blood, flooded the street he was standing on, till it was up to his knees, then the street vanished, and he plunged into the red river. His eyes stung from the thick salty liquid as he tried looking around, his lungs tight from the unprepared holding of his breath. He swam furiously to find the top, flailing slightly when he found a ceiling above him, hard and unforgiving, not letting him pass through. A flash of insight, and a panging need for air, had him kicking off the obstruction, and swimming in the other direction, after all directions underwater could be easily confused, maybe he had found a floor of some sort. Just as his hand met another solid obstruction his lungs gave up and with a choked cough he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the thick stuff. The next moment the liquid was gone as though it had never been and his dry body slammed into a hard unforgiving, and above all else familiar dark hardwood floor.
Gagging, choking, and sputtering, he expelled the trapped red liquid from his lungs; staining the corner of the already disgustingly stained throw rug that the drummer wouldn’t get rid of cause it ‘really brings the room together.’ Still coughing but no longer gagging he collapsed to his side, and watched as the band entered the room, and their reactions to the mess on the rug. The new stain never could be cleaned, just when they though it had been gotten out it would show back up, as fresh and vibrant and wet as the day Bam had made it, and it was decided that it had to be chucked. This was done over much protests from the drummer who finally saw to letting it go after stepping on the corner one morning, and looking down at the sight of the still fresh bloody stain oozing up and squishing between his toes caused his still excessively drunk body to rebel and he had added to the stains himself. Bam for the most part managed to curb some of his more rebellious nature, making sure to follow the tugging, though he did so barely grudgingly.
Time passed with a dragging certainty and Bam learned more about interacting with his environment, and while they couldn’t hear his voice for shit, he still found ways to communicate that he was their just fine. ‘His’ chair always tipped over if anyone sat in it, moving it wound up in Bam, loudly moving it back when everyone else was sleeping. The one time they had thrown it out Bam had managed to drag it back up to the flat, rung the doorbell and then as the door opened, shoved the chair inside, bowling over the shocked keyboarder. The band had decided that the chair could stay, and new guests of the flat were summarily warned away from it.
Truth be told, Bam didn’t care much for the chair, it was a wooden monstrosity, not so much carved as branches from an old gnarled tree were roughly split and slotted together. It was prone to giving slivers while you were trying to get in a good position, and even with the addition of several throw pillows there was no such thing as finding comfortable spot. It was because no one really sat in it that Bam had claimed it as his own.
And their were other ways he had been letting the band know he was around, like his subtle guidance on the songs that they practiced, if Bam didn’t like a song he would let them know, subtly. Guitar strings would snap suddenly, cymbals would crash to the floor, on occasion mikes would fly across the room, or everything would become unplugged. The worst thing he had been forced to do in guiding the band, subtly of course, was the time he had completely destroyed an amp, which had caused a minor panic once flames had begun consuming the piece of equipment, but he still gave a sigh of relief that they got the message, and their cover of ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me’ would never see the light of day.
Still with as much as Bam hated his un-life, and as much as he was bored out of his mind, he had at least found something to occupy his time. His eyes looked out over the press of bodies in the apartment, not that there was enough to make the place packed; just they were really ‘cozy’ people with no concept of personal space. He sighed as someone put a glass of vodka down by his chair, then promptly knocked it over, and his eyes continued to search for what he thought of as ‘his boy’. Bam saw him leaning an arm up against one of the walls, with a girl pressed tightly to him, kissing her within an inch of her life. Lucky prick always had girls flocked around him, and Bam would sometimes feel jealous, knowing that if he had been alive still that could have been him, he could have been the one commanding so much attention.
Though Bam did have some doubts about the orientation of this guy, he seemed to wear a bit too much eye makeup and had a really girly look to him at times. He did have a fatal flaw as well, which had prompted Bam to following him. Bad luck was attracted to this guy like moths were attracted to 100-watt bulbs. Since Bam had decided to help this guy out, he had managed to keep him from getting run over, trampled, bonked on the head with various objects, stopped two muggings, and made sure that he got home okay after quite a few nights of serious drinking.
This guardian angel shit was hard work, but at least it gave him something to do. He still pulled pranks on the band member, but their was only so much that could be done by a ghost before it became more like he was trying to be malicious and not to just have a laugh. If things went to far, Bam didn’t have anyway of apologizing, (not that he would, but if necessary) he lacked control to manipulate a pen or pencil, their weren’t any handy letters laying around to push into the words, and none of the guys owned a ouiji board.
He watched, envious as pale hands slipped under a tight top, pushing it upwards, till Bam caught the flash of a pierced nipple, till a hand covered it, massaging roughly. That was another thing he missed, true enough he had sensation in his ‘body’, he still breathed, if he tried doing something really strenuous, like the time he had killed the amp, it was completely exhausting and he would find himself sweating. He slept, though not with any degree of the satisfaction he got from it before, he couldn’t smell anything, but then again he himself never got dirty, even after the blood incident, though he puked blood all over a floor, he had nothing to mark the experience on his body or clothes. He wasn’t stuck wearing the same thing day in or day out, with a little effort on his part he had discovered he could even decide what he wanted to wear, but he had no need of going to the bathroom, and though he could feel sexually excited, he couldn’t do anything about it cause he never got hard.
He hadn’t popped a nut in so long it wasn’t funny, maybe he had died of blue-balls and this was his own personal hell, cause these guys were a bunch of horny bastards. He growled lightly as his band member started getting somewhere with the female groupie, who obviously was getting off on the fact that she was going to be all but screwed in front of a room full of complete strangers, granted not many of them were paying any attention, but it was the thought really.
Bam scowled darkly, his blue eyes glaring coldly at the partier who suddenly had blocked his view. Then the man had gained further notoriety from bam with his clearly disdainful looks in Bam’s direction, or at least in the direction of his chair, and his slurred finish words, which while Bam didn’t understand them, clearly held a challenge. Then the guy staggered closer, spun around drunkenly and dropped into Bam’s chair, right on top of him.
Surging upwards Bam passed through the guy, turning sharply and looked down at the drunken bastard who had dared to take his chair. The drunk had a look of triumph on his face, and Bam clenched his fists at his sides, he was a pissed off, sexually frustrated Ghost and this was just one step too far. This guy was fuckin toast.
tbc...
Comment and critisms always welcome.