A Beautiful Disaster. [Chapter 1]
Title: A Beautiful Disaster. [Chapter 1]
Author: xxninny435xx
Rating: NC-17 [Overall]
Pairing: Jalex [Alex Gaskarth/Jack Barakat]
Summary: Alex was a creator, until his muse died, along with his brother. His world is bleak and dark; so how could Jack, a destroyer, possibly put Alex's life back together?
Disclaimer: Don'ttt owwnn. [:
Author Notes: I've been wanting to write a chaptered bandfiction for a long time now; so I'm doing this. xD I hope it sounds somewhat interesting. Feedback would be most appreciated<3
--
Alex Gaskarth was a creator. An artist, in all forms of the word. He would strum you a melody on the guitar, a sickeningly sweet tune that made your heart skip a beat - but it was nothing compared to his voice. The soft sound would come out in the form of a lullaby, stopping your heart all together and lulling you to sweet dreams. It was simply hypnotizing, how his singing could make you swish and sway, forget your pain and sorrows for just a few minutes, and get lost in him.
His voice was merely a recipe in his music, however.
His lyrics were the things that tied it all together, like a bow on top of a lovely package. He would slide the box in your hands with a reassuring smile, nodding in a silent command of 'open it.' Swallowing thickly, you would peel the wrapping paper tentatively, fingers lingering over the flap of the box before you held your breath and just opened it. The words would flood out like rain, wrapping around you and blinding your senses like cocaine. You would get lost in his world, in his words, unable to comprehend anything other than the sentences passing his lips; “Running from lions never felt like such a mistake...”
Of course, Alex was never one to have only a single talent - as amazing as it may be.
He was an artist. With the stroke of his wrist, the dip of his brush, a masterpiece would form right before your very eyes. A soft smile would adorn his face as he worked, calmly letting his hand glide over his paper, the colors blending into a sea of misinterpreted thoughts and trap doors. He would dab his brush in a pool of blues and greens, splashing them across the scene and creating a whirl, a swirl, a little curl of delight.
Alex Gaskarth was a creator. It was his outlet, the way he blew steam, the way he kept his sanity. It was the one thing in his life that was calm and perfect, never leaving him behind or betraying him.
When Daniel...when he...how could he...?
He sang. He picked at his guitar. He wrote the words in his mind over and over on paper before crumpling them into little balls and sending them to the trash can. No matter how hard he tried, the things he wanted to say just wouldn't come out. It was like he was shoveling sand into his mouth, his throat going dry and the air going thick. He was cracking, slowly suffocating under the pressure; his brother was gone, his mother was a mess, and his father was getting drunk enough to pass out on the floor. His life was tumbling down right before his eyes, and no matter how much he scrambled around to keep the bricks together, they just kept coming down. How was he supposed to keep his own life together, when he was too busy picking up the pieces of his parents' hearts?
He decided that their well-being was more important than his. After all, he was a creator, and he wouldn't just stand by and watch his parents crumble.
It had been 3 months after Daniel died that Alex put down his guitar for the last time. He let it collect dust in the corner of his room; he would stare at it longingly, his fingers burning with that familiar itch that usually came when he felt the need to play. His voice was locked away in the back of his throat, his singing never to be heard again. He shoved his easel into his closet, ripped his sketches from the walls and threw them away until his room was bare. His paint brushes were thrown away, his heart aching every time he saw those too-bright colors that he once related to his life. Now, all he could see were blacks and grays.
Now, it has been a year since Daniel's death. Alex's life is bleak, the art of creation buried deep into the pits of his mind, like a foreign memory that is so far away, he doesn't even miss it. He can't even recall what it feels like to sing out his feelings, to hold a paintbrush and create something beautiful.
It seems his inspiration had followed his brother to the grave.
XxXxX
Jack Barakat was a destroyer. He broke hearts about as much as he breathed air. Like anything in life, destroying was an art form, and Jack was quite the artists when it came to smashing things in two. He's broken everything he's ever touched, hurt everyone he's ever loved - and there is nothing he can do to stop it. It's in his nature, a part of him. It's like a mole on his face; a blemish that he can't get rid of.
Jack didn't want to be this way. It just happened. He used to be the lovable boy who would talk about Home Alone for hours and smile that cheeky grin that made you just want to pinch his little-boy cheeks. Unfortunately, he was taught at a young age the art of destruction.
His father left when he was just starting 1st grade. It completely crushed his mother, leaving her a pile of sobs and tattered bones. Her skin would sag and her eyes always looked tired and sad. Jack would watch from behind the corner as his mother cried while trying to make dinner, her hands shaking before she dropped the bowl in her hands, letting the glass fall to the floor and shatter, much like her own heart.
You could say that Jack learned from the best.
Now, everything he touched turned to ash. Every relationship he got into would be cut off in the same month. He wasn't sure if he was afraid of commitment or not, but either way, he always seemed to fuck everything up; he would cheat, he would lie, he would yell...
Everything would seem perfect in the beginning, like two teenagers in love. But soon after, havoc would break loose. Jack would destroy what he had promised to keep whole, would watch as the girl - or the occasional boy - would cry and push their way past him, running away in betrayal and hurt.
It would be more than obvious that the relationship was over.
Jack Barakat was a destroyer. Alex Gaskarth was a creator. It didn't seem possible, sounded completely ridiculous to say that they could ever be compatible, that they could ever learn to love each other.
And then they met.
Author: xxninny435xx
Rating: NC-17 [Overall]
Pairing: Jalex [Alex Gaskarth/Jack Barakat]
Summary: Alex was a creator, until his muse died, along with his brother. His world is bleak and dark; so how could Jack, a destroyer, possibly put Alex's life back together?
Disclaimer: Don'ttt owwnn. [:
Author Notes: I've been wanting to write a chaptered bandfiction for a long time now; so I'm doing this. xD I hope it sounds somewhat interesting. Feedback would be most appreciated<3
--
Alex Gaskarth was a creator. An artist, in all forms of the word. He would strum you a melody on the guitar, a sickeningly sweet tune that made your heart skip a beat - but it was nothing compared to his voice. The soft sound would come out in the form of a lullaby, stopping your heart all together and lulling you to sweet dreams. It was simply hypnotizing, how his singing could make you swish and sway, forget your pain and sorrows for just a few minutes, and get lost in him.
His voice was merely a recipe in his music, however.
His lyrics were the things that tied it all together, like a bow on top of a lovely package. He would slide the box in your hands with a reassuring smile, nodding in a silent command of 'open it.' Swallowing thickly, you would peel the wrapping paper tentatively, fingers lingering over the flap of the box before you held your breath and just opened it. The words would flood out like rain, wrapping around you and blinding your senses like cocaine. You would get lost in his world, in his words, unable to comprehend anything other than the sentences passing his lips; “Running from lions never felt like such a mistake...”
Of course, Alex was never one to have only a single talent - as amazing as it may be.
He was an artist. With the stroke of his wrist, the dip of his brush, a masterpiece would form right before your very eyes. A soft smile would adorn his face as he worked, calmly letting his hand glide over his paper, the colors blending into a sea of misinterpreted thoughts and trap doors. He would dab his brush in a pool of blues and greens, splashing them across the scene and creating a whirl, a swirl, a little curl of delight.
Alex Gaskarth was a creator. It was his outlet, the way he blew steam, the way he kept his sanity. It was the one thing in his life that was calm and perfect, never leaving him behind or betraying him.
When Daniel...when he...how could he...?
He sang. He picked at his guitar. He wrote the words in his mind over and over on paper before crumpling them into little balls and sending them to the trash can. No matter how hard he tried, the things he wanted to say just wouldn't come out. It was like he was shoveling sand into his mouth, his throat going dry and the air going thick. He was cracking, slowly suffocating under the pressure; his brother was gone, his mother was a mess, and his father was getting drunk enough to pass out on the floor. His life was tumbling down right before his eyes, and no matter how much he scrambled around to keep the bricks together, they just kept coming down. How was he supposed to keep his own life together, when he was too busy picking up the pieces of his parents' hearts?
He decided that their well-being was more important than his. After all, he was a creator, and he wouldn't just stand by and watch his parents crumble.
It had been 3 months after Daniel died that Alex put down his guitar for the last time. He let it collect dust in the corner of his room; he would stare at it longingly, his fingers burning with that familiar itch that usually came when he felt the need to play. His voice was locked away in the back of his throat, his singing never to be heard again. He shoved his easel into his closet, ripped his sketches from the walls and threw them away until his room was bare. His paint brushes were thrown away, his heart aching every time he saw those too-bright colors that he once related to his life. Now, all he could see were blacks and grays.
Now, it has been a year since Daniel's death. Alex's life is bleak, the art of creation buried deep into the pits of his mind, like a foreign memory that is so far away, he doesn't even miss it. He can't even recall what it feels like to sing out his feelings, to hold a paintbrush and create something beautiful.
It seems his inspiration had followed his brother to the grave.
XxXxX
Jack Barakat was a destroyer. He broke hearts about as much as he breathed air. Like anything in life, destroying was an art form, and Jack was quite the artists when it came to smashing things in two. He's broken everything he's ever touched, hurt everyone he's ever loved - and there is nothing he can do to stop it. It's in his nature, a part of him. It's like a mole on his face; a blemish that he can't get rid of.
Jack didn't want to be this way. It just happened. He used to be the lovable boy who would talk about Home Alone for hours and smile that cheeky grin that made you just want to pinch his little-boy cheeks. Unfortunately, he was taught at a young age the art of destruction.
His father left when he was just starting 1st grade. It completely crushed his mother, leaving her a pile of sobs and tattered bones. Her skin would sag and her eyes always looked tired and sad. Jack would watch from behind the corner as his mother cried while trying to make dinner, her hands shaking before she dropped the bowl in her hands, letting the glass fall to the floor and shatter, much like her own heart.
You could say that Jack learned from the best.
Now, everything he touched turned to ash. Every relationship he got into would be cut off in the same month. He wasn't sure if he was afraid of commitment or not, but either way, he always seemed to fuck everything up; he would cheat, he would lie, he would yell...
Everything would seem perfect in the beginning, like two teenagers in love. But soon after, havoc would break loose. Jack would destroy what he had promised to keep whole, would watch as the girl - or the occasional boy - would cry and push their way past him, running away in betrayal and hurt.
It would be more than obvious that the relationship was over.
Jack Barakat was a destroyer. Alex Gaskarth was a creator. It didn't seem possible, sounded completely ridiculous to say that they could ever be compatible, that they could ever learn to love each other.
And then they met.