Even the stars refuse to shine

Sun, 13 Jul 2008 23:39:27 GMT

So. I've been meaning to do a post here for quite a while now, but I never seem to get around to it (or I do and end up doing the whole thing where I write an entry, backspace it all, write it again, backspace all that...). Basically, I just wanted to say that I'm back, and hopefully there will be fic again soon. There was a lot more to it, as I've been thinking a lot lately about writing and a pile of things related to it, but whenever I attempt to post about that, I end up doing that backspace thing. So yeah, I kind of am starting to have an idea of what I want to do with my writing and why I write and where I want to go with it all... But apparently I can't articulate any of it. What I can say, is to expect a lot less barefic. Any bare that I do write though (and there will probably be a little bit as I start to get back into the swing of writing) that's not like, written for someone who requested something, will be Matt, since the way I write him is kind of the direction I want to go in.

So yeah, that's all. Maybe I'll eventually be able to articulate this all a little bit better and explain, but for now you just need to know that I'm back, and hopefully will be writing again soon.

ETA: Oh, also. I'm going to start friends locking anything that's not fic (posts like this, prompt tables, request posts etc) so if you want to see any of that, go ahead and add me (and if suddenly I add you out of freaking no where, that's why :p)

Fri, 19 Oct 2007 03:10:43 GMT

Fandom: bare
Title: 34 Lines About Matthew Lloyd
Author: longshadowsfall
Feedback: Is like Chris Cantalupo, makes me squee like the fangirl you all know I am.
Pairing: None.
Word Count: 431.
Rating: G.
Genre: General.
Summary: Pretty self explanitory no?
Notes: illusionofdepth was doing these for Queer as Folk characters and I decided to do one for Matt since I seem to be doing a lot of filling out his character lately. Obviously, this is Chris!Matt not Aaron!Matt.
Spoilers: The usual stuff from the show.
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: bare belongs to Damon Intrabartolo and Jon Hatmere... Although the former doesn't deserve it.

1. He skips grades nine and ten.
2. He later wishes he hadn’t.
3. At first, only two people in the school talk to him when they’re not just trying to get something out of him.
4. Peter and Jason.
5. Only one of them ever goes out of their way to hang out with him.
6. For the longest time, he wishes they would stop.
7. Then he realizes that Peter’s not a petty, superficial, narcissistic idiot like the rest of his class.
8. That happens on a Sunday night before midterms when he’s sitting alone playing checkers.
9. Peter walks up, sits down, and starts playing for red.
10. Neither of them speak for the whole game.
11. Matt wins.
12. He doesn’t know why, but something in the way he sees Peter changes that night.
13. He’s always at that checkerboard by himself.
14. He plays for both sides. He thinks that winning is more of an accomplishment if you know exactly what your opponent is planning.
15. Everyone always makes jokes about “Little Matty and his checkers”.
16. They just don’t get it.
17. He doesn’t care what they say about him.
18. At least that’s what he tells himself.
19. He knows it’s a lie.
20. The first time he really talks to Nadia was when they both bailed on an end of year party in grade eleven.
21. They’ve been best friends ever since.
22. He’s not homophobic. He gets freaked out when he finds out about Peter and Jason because the one person who he trusted and thought was completely honest with him had lied just like all the others.
23. After Ivy’s party he doesn’t go near Peter for eight days because he’s worried Peter thinks he hates him for being gay.
24. In hindsight, he’ll see that that probably didn’t help matters.
25. He’s normally quiet and reserved, but Ivy brings out something else in him.
26. That ‘something else’ isn’t always good.
27. He’s not homophobic, but he knows that they are. And that night before the senior play he wants nothing more than to hurt Jason.
28. He gets what he wanted.
29. After Jason dies, he forgets about Ivy completely. He won’t even look at her.
30. If he’d never seen her, he’d never have done what he did.
31. And Jason would still be alive.
32. After high school he stops going to church, praying, and wearing his cross.
33. If he wasn’t Catholic he’d never have gone to St. Cecilia’s.
34. And Jason would still be alive.

Tue, 02 Oct 2007 21:52:00 GMT

Fandom: bare
Title: 5 Birthday Presents Jason got Peter
Author: longshadowsfall
Feedback: Is like Michael Arden, makes me squee like the fangirl you all know I am.
Pairing: Peter/Jason.
Word Count: 604.
Rating: PG 13.
Genre: uh, fluff/angst?
Summary: Pretty self explanitory no?
Notes: Written for the bare100 fic challenge at the bare RPG forums
Spoilers: Uh, what happens at the end of the show.
Warnings: One swear word.
Disclaimer: bare belongs to Damon Intrabartolo and Jon Hatmere... Although the former doesn't deserve it.

1. It’s not technically a gift, but Peter sees it as the best part of his birthday that year.

He’s walking down the hallway at St. Cecilia’s with his head bent over a map trying to figure out where his chem. class is and mumbling about the stupid school having to have their stupid freshman orientation two months before stupid classes start on his stupid birthday, when some jerk who’s not watching where they’re going bumps into him. There’s a mumbled apology and he feels a hand on his shoulder as he’s being handed back the map that he dropped. He doesn’t get the chance to say anything before the stranger takes off running down the hallway. He looks up as they run off and his breath catches in his throat, he thinks that that must be the most gorgeous boy he’s ever seen.

2. A birthday cake.

By itself it’s not the most thoughtful gift, and it required minimal effort (Jason admitted right away that he had bought it, saying that Peter wouldn’t want to so much as touch anything that he had baked himself) but given the fact that it wasn’t even Peter’s birthday, it was definitely the sweetest thing Jason had ever done. It was exactly one month before Peter’s 15th birthday and Jason was sitting on his bed licking icing off his finger in a slightly suggestive manner, and explaning that they were going to celebrate today since they wouldn’t be together on the actual day.

“Just when I thought that I couldn’t love you any more.” Peter mumbles as Jason leans in to kiss him.

3. Tickets for the two of them to go see some musical that Jason’s never heard of.

Peter had only ever seen one show before, and he’d been obsessed with it since the moment he left the theatre. Of course, this meant that Jason had to put up with hearing him sing the same songs every single day for the past year, and as much as he loved listening to Peter sing (though he’d never admit to it) it was starting to drive him crazy.

“Because if I have to hear about what you did for love one more time, I’m going to throw you out the window.” Jason says, smirking, as Peter opens the envelope.

4. A visit.

When Jason hadn’t done anything on June 15 that year (the day that they would always celebrate Peter’s birthday), Peter hadn’t said a word about it, trying not to be too blatant in his disappointment. He wasn’t one to hold a grudge, but he still hadn’t really forgiven Jason for it. At least that was the case 30 seconds ago before he pulled into his driveway in the new car that his dad had bought him and saw Jason sitting on his front porch. He practically leaps out of the car, instantly feeling stupid for thinking that Jason would just blow off his birthday. Jason stands up, not quite running but definitely walking faster than usual to meet up with Peter. He looks around to make sure that their alone before leaning in for a quick kiss.

“Happy birthday. For real this time.”

5. Nothing.

It’s June 15th 2004 and Peter should be opening his 18th birthday present from Jason. But he’s not. There’s no cake, or thoughtful gift, or secret plans for a surprise meeting over the summer, there’s just… Nothing. That’s all Peter feels. That and the faint thought somewhere in the back of his mind that this is the worst fucking timing ever. On today of all days, he’s at Jason’s funeral.

Sun, 01 Jul 2007 21:53:25 GMT

Fandom: Bare: A Pop Opera
Title: Same as Before
Author: longshadowsfall
Feedback: Is like Michael Arden, makes me squee like the fangirl you all know I am.
Pairing: Peter/Jason.
Word Count: 573.
Rating: PG 13.
Genre: Angst.
Summary: Peter and Jason fight over plans for the summer.
Notes: Written for didaverseend for the Bare ficathon.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Swearing.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bare.

Peter lay in bed with his back turned to Jason. He knew that this wouldn’t last, knew that in a few hours Jason would climb in bed next to him whispering a murmured apology, and they would fall asleep in each other’s arms. He knew this, but at the moment he didn’t particularly care. At the moment, he just wanted to be mad at the asshole.

Peter sat up on his bed when Jason walked in the door.

“Hey,” He said smiling “I just got off the phone with my mom.”

Jason sat on the edge of his bed, telling himself that he should go over there and apologize. He should, but that didn’t mean that he was going to. He was the one who was trying to be rational here, why couldn’t Peter see that?

“Peter…”

“Peter… I can’t.” Jason looked to the ground; not wanting to see the hurt look that he knew would be on Peter’s face.

“What? Why not?” Peter tried not to let his disappointment show. Jason probably had a legitimate reason for why he couldn’t go, was probably going on vacation that day or something. Right, he wouldn’t miss it otherwise.

Peter grabbed one of his pillows and hugged it to his chest.

“Not talking to you right now.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Peter shook his head in disbelief.

“It’s not that I don’t want to but… Christ Peter! Someone could figure it out!”

Jason sighed, so much for talking about it. He stood up and walked over to Peter’s bed, sitting down on the edge in silence.

“I’d be coming up all the way from Chicago, someone would suspect something.” Why was Peter not understanding this?

“Yes, you’d be coming up from Chicago and no one would think anything other than ‘what a great friend he is to come all the way up here for this.’ But apparently even being a good friend’s too much to ask!” Peter could understand why Jason wouldn’t go on dates with him, but this was fucking ridiculous.

Peter shifted closer to wall, hoping that Jason would get the picture. Why couldn’t he just get up and leave him the fuck alone?

“It’s my sixteenth birthday Jason! I thought that you’d be able to get over your stupid paranoia for one day so that you could be there!”

“Yeah well, I can’t! And it’s hardly stupid, do you know what would happen to me if anyone found out?”

“Yes I do, because you seem to feel the need to tell me all the fucking time. And none of that’s going to happen because no one’s going to find out!”

“How can you be sure?”

“Asshole!” Peter went over to his bed and lay down facing the wall. He didn’t even want to look at Jason right now.

The two boys stayed in silence, each too stubborn to say anything. They both knew that they’d wake up in the morning wrapped in each other’s arms and that this whole thing would just seem like a bad memory. Peter would tell Jason that it was okay that he wouldn’t be there- even though it wasn’t, and Jason would tell Peter that he’d try to come up some other time over the summer- even though he wouldn’t. They both knew that by this time tomorrow they’d be pretending like none of this ever happened. Because that’s how it always went.

Fri, 11 May 2007 06:38:46 GMT

Fandom: Bare: A Pop Opera
Title: 5 Times Peter Felt Homesick
Author: longshadowsfall
Feedback: Is like Michael Arden, makes me squee like the fangirl you all know I am.
Pairing: Peter/Jason.
Word Count: 661.
Rating: G.
Genre: General.
Summary: The title says it all.
Notes: One of those '5 Things...' fics. Someone on my flist did the meme and I was going to give this to her as a prompt, but then decided that I wanted to write it myself. Written for Bare100 prompt 24. Family.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bare. Emma's mine.

5. It’s a Friday evening in September, and a 6-year-old Peter Simmonds is at his very first sleepover. It’s also well past when he was supposed to be asleep. He’s sitting up on his sleeping bag and trying not to cry. He doesn’t want to be here anymore, he wants to be with his mom. She isn’t here and it feels ‘not right’. He’s starting to shake and tears are falling out of his eyes. He wants to go home.

4. Peter was 7 when his parents told him that he would have new little brother or sister soon, and he resented the idea from the start. He didn’t care about having to share his parents’ attention or anything like that, he just didn’t like babies. But after Emma was born, his feelings quickly changed. He spent all of his spare time playing with his baby sister and couldn’t wait until she was older so that he could teach her all sorts of important things.

It’s three weeks after Emma was born and Peter is staying over at a friend’s house so that they can leave early the next morning to go to Six Flags. He’s sitting alone in his friend’s room crying. When Andrew comes in with his mom, Peter explains that without him no one will know which rattle Emma wants to play with or if she even wants to play with a rattle or just cuddle a teddy bear. In between sobs he very matter-of-factly tells them that they’re two completely different cries. Even though Andrew’s mom explains that Peter will see Emma again on Sunday, he continues crying. He wants to go home.

3. Peter’s 11 years old and it’s his first night at summer camp. ‘Lights out’ was called over an hour ago and he’s still up tossing and turning in his bunk bed. Not only is the bunk uncomfortable, it’s not his bed. It’s not his bed and these aren’t his blankets and that isn’t his pillow. He knows that it shouldn’t make a difference, but it does. He spends the next few hours trying to get comfortable and failing miserabley. He wants to go home.

2. It’s late August and Peter looks around the dorm room that he’ll be living in for the next four years. All of his things are unpacked, but it still feels like something’s missing. He knows exactly what that ‘something’ is because he purposely left it at home. That ‘something’ is a signed football that his dad got him for his twelfth birthday. It’s not that he likes football- he doesn’t even know the player that the signature’s from- but it was the last real gift that his dad got him before he started sending money for Christmas and birthdays. He keeps the football hidden in a box at the back of his closet because he doesn’t want anyone to know that he still cares about his dad, still misses him. His dad is, and always will be, a part of him. And that football is the last connection to that part of him that he has. He wants to go home.

1. It’s Christmas Eve of senior year and Peter is alone in his room, staring out the window. His mom is downstairs making dinner, Emma’s in her bedroom talking to a friend on the phone, the bed that he’s sitting on is the same one that he’s always had, and the football from his father is tucked away in it’s usual hiding place. He no longer defines ‘home’ as where his family is, or by the material possessions surrounding him. He’s learned that home is the place where you feel safe. The place where nothing can hurt you and there’s no need for emotional walls or facades of fake feelings. And the only place Peter feels that free is in the arms of a tall brown-haired boy with sparkling blue eyes. He wants to go home.

Sun, 15 Apr 2007 01:52:58 GMT

Fandom: Bare: A Pop Opera
Title: A Twisted Ever After
Author: longshadowsfall
Feedback: Is like Michael Arden, makes me squee like the fangirl you all know I am.
Pairing: Peter/Jason.
Word Count: 493
Rating: PG 13 for language.
Genre: Angst.
Summary: Peter reads Jason's valedictorian speech.
Notes: Written for Bare100 prompt 40. Everlasting.
Spoilers: Don't read it if you haven't seen/heard/read a summary of the play.
Warnings: Swearing.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bare.

Promise. Webster’s defines ‘promise’ as a declaration that something will or will not be done. Four years ago I made a promise to myself, to you- my peers-, to my family, and to God. I promised that I would be standing up here tonight, giving this speech. And here I am.

When we make a promise- one that we refuse to break- it’s like we set out on a path. That path may lead us to our goal, or it may steer us away from the things that we said we would not do. But in one way or another, it gets us where we’re going. In a sense, the path that we take through life is formed of all the promises that we have made along the way.

Each of our paths is unique; we all make different promises- to ourselves, to the people around us, to God- but sometimes our path will cross with that of someone else. Someone with similar goals or challenges. I have crossed paths with all of you in this room because we have all made a similar promise to God- to live by his word as best we can.

For a few of you, our paths have not only crossed, but they have merged into one, and in many cases, our paths will part tonight and we will once again begin to walk them on our own.

The thing is, no two paths are the same- no two promises are made with the same intent- and all shared journeys must end. We can’t walk a path with someone to the end of the world- there’s no “ever after”

Peter stared down at the crumpled- and now tear stained- piece of paper. It was Jason’s speech, the one that he never got the chance to finish.

Maybe he was right, maybe two people can’t be together forever, maybe there’s no such thing as a soul mate. But dammit, he didn’t care! Not one fucking bit. Fate and destiny and “ever afters”, none of that mattered because all Peter wanted right now was to hold Jason again, to stare into his eyes, to hear his voice, to just have Jason. And he didn’t care about forever anymore because all he wanted was one minute, just one more minute of… Of that. That was too perfect for words, and now it was gone. And there was no sense in even wondering if something could last ‘til the end of the world anymore because the only thing that Peter would want to last that long, the only person that he’d want to share his “ever after” with was gone. And no amount of contemplation, or prayer, or begging, or sheer longing could change that.

Peter threw the speech onto the floor, sobbing. Jason was wrong. The fucking bastard was wrong. There was one thing that lasted forever, and now Peter was stuck with an “ever after” that he never wanted.

Tue, 06 Feb 2007 22:31:59 GMT

Fandom: RENT
Title: Mark's Head
Author: longshadowsfall
Feedback: Is like Adam Pascal, makes me squee like the fangirl you all know I am.
Pairing: None
Word Count: 245
Rating: G
Genre: General
Summary: Roger and Collins tease Mark.
Notes: Won 1st place at rentfichallenge
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own RENT.

“A strawberry?”

“Yes, a strawberry.” Roger was sitting on the couch looking down at very confused (and slightly offended) Mark.

“That makes no sense!”

“Sure it does.” Collins walked out of the kitchen and sat down beside Roger. “In fact, it’s probably the most accurate description I’ve heard.”

“My- Wait, you’ve heard other descriptions?”

“Lots.”

“It’s true.” Roger agreed. “People are always comparing it to things.”

“Like what?” Mark was almost afraid to know.

“A light bulb, a pumpkin, a basketball...” Roger counted on his fingers as he listed off random objects.

“A basketball?”

“Ya, I think that may have been Benny.”

“It was, I was there.” Collins confirmed. He then added, “He was high”

“April would get all poetic about it.”

“Poetic?”

“ It’s a lighthouse beacon on a stormy night.” Roger said, imitating April’s voice and articulating with his hands. This statement was met by stares from both Mark and Collins.

“Hey.” He said, raising his hands in a show of innocence. “She said it, not me.”

“A strawberry is still the best.” Collins said.

“It is.” Roger confirmed.

Mark stood up and looked from Roger to Collins and back again. Shaking his head, he walked over to his bedroom and attempted to close the curtain separating it from the rest of the loft with the effect of slamming a door. He failed miserably.

From his room he could hear Collins laughing as Roger said “It really does look like a strawberry though!”

Thu, 01 Feb 2007 05:24:12 GMT

Fandom: RENT
Title: Not Fade Away
Author: longshadowsfall
Feedback: Is like Adam Pascal, makes me squee like the fangirl you all know I am.
Pairing: Mark/Roger
Word Count: 271
Rating: PG 13
Genre: Angst/Fluff/Romance maybe?
Summary: Mark reflects on the time that he's known Roger.
Notes: Written for rentfichallenge. Cookies if you can tell me where the title is from, and my logic for using it.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: One bad word
Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, I don't even own the title of this story

My whole life I’ve always had things handed to me. My parents were well off so I never needed a part time job. I was pretty smart and didn’t have to work hard for my grades. Truth is, I never had to fight for anything in my life… Until I met you.

Every minute since that day, I’ve been fighting to keep you. When I sat in your room watching to make sure that you didn’t kill yourself after we found her- I was fighting. When I would stay up all night watching your door in case you tried to sneak out for a hit- I was fighting. When I held you as you shook and cried. When I sat by your side and stroked your hair as you retched all through the night. When I would sit and take the yelling and screaming after asking you to take your AZT. When I gave up my last blanket for you. And yes, even when I pushed you to pursue a spunky young Latina- I was fighting for you.

I’m still fighting for you. With every kiss, every hug, every fuck. Every time I hold you in my arms, I’m fighting to keep you. And I’ll keep on fighting, but that’s okay, because I’m fighting for someone I love. Do you realize how hard I fight? And if you had to, would you fight for me? Would you face the sleepless nights? Would you take the yelling and screaming? Would you clean up my vomit? Would you fight that hard just to keep me with you?

I’m afraid to know the answer.

Tue, 30 Jan 2007 06:01:43 GMT

Fandom: RENT
Title: 1204.89 Miles
Authors: longshadowsfall and zorabet
Feedback: Is like Adam Pascal- makes me squee like the fangirl you all know I am.
Pairing: Teen!Collins/OC
Word Count: 2300
Rating: PG 13 for language
Genre: Drama?
Summary: Collins prepares to call his mom to tell her about his HIV status.
Notes: We wrote this together and it won 2nd place at rentfichallenge. Anyone who can figure out where Collins is from gets cookies.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Swearing, homophobia.
Disclaimer: We do not own RENT... Or Star Wars.

Collins sits on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes locked on the phone. He hates phones. He hates them for many reasons; they charge you money for the basic act of talking to people, they always seem to ring especially loudly the morning after you’ve been out drinking, and of course they mean that no matter how far away you are- you can’t escape your parents. You can’t avoid telling them things just because they live 1204.89 miles away. Yes, he knows the exact distance from here to his childhood home. He reminds himself everyday that he is 1204.89 miles away from that place and all the memories that go with it. But that’s what these goddamn phones are for, right? Being able to call someone miles and miles away and tell them whatever necessary. A birth, a new job, an engagement, or, say, that their son is HIV positive.

He sighs and stands up, walking over to the phone. Grabbing the receiver, he punches in the number he still remembers after all these years. Five to be exact. Five years, 4 months, 18 days since his eighteenth birthday.

Collins walks out of his bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen. He throws his duffel bag on the ground next to the hall closet, making as little noise as possible. He steps over to the kitchen area, leaning against the island his mom is stationed at. Monica Collins looks up, and upon noticing Collins, her gummy smile shines up at him, “Thomas! Happy birthday!” she comes up to his side, wrapping her pudgy arms around his waist.

“Thanks, Mom.” He murmurs, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing briefly.

Before Collins can ramble off the speech he’s had planned out for a good two months, a small, seven-year old girl bounces out from the backyard, braids bouncing right along with her. Upon spotting the now-adult in the kitchen, she launches herself at him, and he swoops her into his arms easily.

Monica steps away, chuckling, “Sanesha, wish your brother a happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday, Tommy!” she squeals, squirming as Collins lightly runs his fingers over her stomach.

“Thanks, kiddo.” Collins kisses her temple and places her back on the floor, “Can you let me and mommy talk for a minute?” Sanesha nods and dashes towards her playroom, braids clinking against her back.

“My baby boy, all grown up,” Monica starts, tears already beginning to well in her chocolate eyes.

“Mom, I’m going to New York. I’m leaving now.” He blurts.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Monica replies, turning away, “Is there something I can do, that I could have done, that will make you stay?”

“No, mom,” he sighs, “you know it wasn’t you. It was all dad, you know that and I know that. Okay? I’m leaving now, I’m going to say goodbye to you, and to Sanesha, and I’m going to go to the bus station and get on my bus and go to New York.”

Monica nods, “I guess I can’t stop you, can I?” she tries to laugh, and it comes out as more of a sob, “I just always thought you’d change your mind, and you would stay.” There’s an awkward silence as Collins sits, not quite sure what to say, then Monica breaks the silence, “Well, come on over here and give your mama a great big hug, then.”

Collins smiles lightly and leans down to wrap his arms around his mother, her hands splayed out on his back and her tears staining the pocket on Collins’ shirt. After a moment or two of a tight embrace, Collins pulls away and calls for Sanesha. The girl runs out, staring up at Collins, “What, Tommy?”

He crouches down to her level and seats her atop his knee, “Listen, kiddo, I’m not going to live in the house anymore, okay?” he says gently.

“But, if you don’t live here, where are you gonna live?” Sanesha exclaims, genuinely puzzled.

“I’m gonna live in New York.” Collins says, his voice sounding like it’s describing a magical land, “and it’s far, far away from here. But I’m gonna come see you sometime, okay? Can you give me a hug goodbye?”

Sanesha shakes her head, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, “You can’t leave, Tommy! You can’t!” she shrieks, climbing off his knee and wrapping her slender arms around his calves, “You have to stay!” she wails, her chest beginning to heave. Collins looks to his mother pleadingly, and she pulls Sanesha up and plants her a good three feet away from Collins.

With a final kiss to the top of each of their heads, Collins picks up the duffel bag that had been hiding and walks towards the door. He turns his head to face his mother, looking her in the eye, “Tell dad I won’t miss him.” And he walks away from his mother’s quiet protests and his sister’s wails with empty promises to call and visit, and he never looks back.

He loves his mom, he really does. But they are two completely different people. He wasn’t calling looking for comfort or to guilt his mom into visiting him, he was calling because as his mother, she had a right to know.

The last time that he had called home had been three months after he got to the city. He was dating a young man named Josh and aside from him, he had no friends in the city. So begrudgingly, he called his mom for relationship advice. Josh was only the second boyfriend he’d ever had, and his last relationship ended rather abruptly.

Collins walks out of the kitchen and into the living room, a large bowl of popcorn in hand. Sam is sprawled out on the couch watching Star Wars. He looks up, smiling. Collins’ mom and little sister were out of town visiting his grandma, and his dad went out to the bar- this, of course, meant that he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. This presented the perfect opportunity for he and Sam to spend some time together. Setting the popcorn down on the coffee table, he sits down on the couch, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. They don’t need to say a word to each other to know that the other feels safe and content when they’re in each other’s arms like this.

By the time the movie’s over, it’s almost 2:30 in the morning. Normally, Collins would make Sam drive home now in case his dad got home early. But he was already asleep, and he looks so peaceful that there was no way Collins is going to wake him up. So he just leans in closer to Sam and closes his eyes.

Collins opens his eyes, a loud crashing noise woke him up. He looks over to see his father standing over the couch, grabbing Sam by the collar.

“Get out of my house you fucking fairy!” Mr. Collins pushes Sam off the couch and onto the floor.

Collins rushes over to make sure that he’s okay. He sees that there’s broken glass on the floor that looks like his mother’s vase that used to sit- Oh… That must have been the crashing noise. Collins looks up to see his father coming towards them, he kicks Collins out of the way and pulls Sam up.

“I said, out!” Holding him by the back of the shirt he drags him to the door.

“Dad, stop.” Collins says, he’s too scared to yell. He runs to the door to see his dad practically throwing Sam out.

“You! You’re the one who turned my son into a faggot!”

“Dad, he had nothing to-“

“Shut up!”

Collins didn’t dare say another word, he knew that look in his father’s eyes too well. Mr. Collins stepped outside, towering over Sam.

“I never want to see your little girlie-boy face again, got it? You’ve corrupted my family enough as it is. Probably gave my son AIDS, too, huh? Of course you did, that’s what all you queers do.”

“Mr. Collins, Tom and I never-“

“Don’t lie to me you little fag. I hope it kills you.” Mr. Collins turns around, slamming the door. He walked over to Collins and stood just inches away from his face. “If I ever see you with him again, I swear to God I will tear you limb from queer fucking limb.” Mr. Collins turned around and stomped upstairs.

That was when he knew that he had to leave as soon as he could. He couldn’t stay in a place where he had to suppress who he was and how he felt.

He’s waiting as the phone rings and rings. Maybe she’s not home? At least that would mean he could put off telling her a little longer.

There’s a click and the sound of breathing can be heard over the receiver.

So much for putting it off. He takes a deep breath…

“Hello?”

…And just about chokes. Instead of hearing the warm, full, and slightly squeaky greeting of his mother, a deep voice comes out of the other end of the phone.

“Hello, dad.”

“Thomas, is that you? Oh my Lord in Heaven, I can’t believe you had the guts to call here, you faggot.” Mr. Collins scoffs, “Monica! Monica, get a load of this! Thomas had the nerve to call here. What is it that you want? Money? You’re dead to me, you don’t get money.”

Geez, Collins thinks, hello to you, too, dad. “No, dad,” he sighs, hating that he still calls him ‘dad’, “I don’t need money. Just let me talk to mom.”

“Your mother is out.” Mr. Collins replies quickly.

“You just called for her.”

“Don’t talk back to me, boy. As much as it pains me to admit it, I’m still your father, and you will still show respect for me.”

“You gotta give respect to get respect.” Collins smirks, pleased with himself for finally being able to stick up to his father.

“I told you not to talk to me like that. Now, what is it you wanna tell your Mama? I’ll relay the message.”

“I’d rather tell her.”

“Aww, poor little fairy wants his mommy.” Mr. Collins mocks.

Collins pushes himself off the couch, subconsciously beginning to pace “Yes, he does. Little fairy is dying, okay. Little fairy is dying and he wants to tell his mother about it. Okay? So, just, just put her on the goddamn phone.”

Mr. Collins laughs, “You finally went and did it, didn’t you? You went and got yourself AIDS, you idiot. I told you, didn’t I? I told you it would get you killed.” Collins can practically see the satisfied grin on his father’s face.

“Yes, I did. You got your wish now, are you happy? Your son is dying, are you happy now?” Collins takes a deep breath, blinking a few stray tears back in the process, “Just…Just let me talk to mom.”

“No, I don’t think we need to bring her into this.”

“No, I don’t think we need to bring her into this.” Mr. Collins shakes his head, “No, this is a father-son matter.”

“Dad, first off, yes it is something she needs to be brought into, I’m her son, too. Second, just because you saw…what you saw doesn’t mean I’m gay.”

“But are you?” Mr. Collins smirks.

Collins crosses his arms over his chest, “I’m not answering anything until mom gets here.” He smirks.

Giving in, Mr. Collins sighs and calls for his wife. After a few awkwardly silent moments, Mrs. Collins waddles into the living room, her stomach protruding in front of her, “What in Heaven’s name are you two arguing about?” she scolds.

“I walked into his bedroom and your son over here was, well, let’s say playing, with this” he waves a magazine featuring a very buff man in the air.

Monica looks from her son to her husband and back again, “Now, boys, let’s just sit down and discuss this rationally.” She says, obviously very frazzled. “Thomas, are you…are you gay?”

Collins stares at his shoes, “Yes.” He mumbles, barely coherent.

“What was that?” his father screams.

“Yes!” he exclaims, “I’m gay! I, Tom Collins, am gay. Do you have a problem with that?”

Monica reaches out to put a hand on Collins’ shoulder, but before she can reach, Mr. Collins slaps her hand away, “Yes! Yes, there’s a big fucking problem with that. No son of mine is going to be a faggot.”

“It’s not something you can fix, dad.” Collins says quietly, “I’m still your son.”

“You see,” he starts, shaking his head, “that’s where you’re wrong. You’re no longer my son.”

Collins turns on his heels and rushes up the stairs, the sounds of his parents fighting left in the distance. One day, he says to himself, one day he’ll love me for me.

“Let me talk to mom.” Collins spats.

“No. I’ll tell her her son got AIDS. I’ll tell her that your stupid choices killed you, don’t you worry. I’ll tell your sister, too. She’s 12 now, you know, I’ll tell her that the big brother she still looks up to killed himself. Goodbye.” And with that, Mr. Collins slams the phone down.

Collins sits back on the couch, resuming his position of elbows resting on knees. That didn’t go quite how he planned it.

He had wanted to talk to his mom one last time. He wanted to talk to Sanesha and marvel at how grown up she sounded. And, he supposed, somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted his dad to forgive him.

But, then again, what did he expect? Of course he wouldn’t understand, their worlds are 1204.89 miles apart.

First Fic Post

Mon, 23 Oct 2006 00:11:37 GMT

Title: My Fault
Author: longshadowsfall
Feedback: Is like Adam Pascal, makes me squee like the fangirl you all know I am
Pairing: Mark/Maureen, Mark/Roger friendship, Mark/Collins friendship, mentioned Roger/Mimi, Collins/Angel, Maureen/Joanne
Word Count: 1120
Rating: R for language
Genre: Angst
Summary: Mark's depression has reached new levels and now everyone is blaming themselves for his recent actions.
Notes: Won 2nd place at speed_rent and submitted at 100songs.
Spoilers:Ummm... Who dies in the show?
Warnings: A fair bit of swearing
Disclaimer: I don't own RENT or the song How to Save a Life by The Fray which this fic is based on

I’m sitting on my bed crying. I should’ve been there for him, maybe then I could have stopped this from happening. But I had to be so caught up in my own damn problems!

I see him walk in the front door of the life café and motion for him to come over to the corner booth that I’ve picked out for us.

“Pookie, we need to talk.”

“Maureen, is everything alright?” He has a look of concern in his eyes. He’s so sweet, always worrying about me.

“Everything’s fine, sit down.”

I tell him about everything, about my cheating, about Joanne. I can’t even look him in the eyes, I just look right through him. If I can’t see his eyes then I won’t realize how much this is hurting him.

When I’m finished he gets up without saying a word and leaves the café. I stay in the booth, not ordering anything, just sitting. After about forty minutes, the waiter tells me I have to leave if I’m not going to buy anything. I don’t feel at all like eating right now, and even if I did I’d just throw it up later anyways- a waste of perfectly good money. As I walk out the door I wonder why I even bothered to tell him.

I put him though all that so that I could be with Joanne, and now we’re not even together anymore. If I had never left him, maybe he would’ve had something to stay for.

It’s all my fault.
___

I’ve been holed up in my room since he left, Collins brings me food a few times a day but I rarely eat anything. Maybe if I’d been able to get through to him then he would still be here.

He’s sitting on the couch in the middle of the loft, staring off into space. Mimi died three months ago, and he looks worse than me. I sit down beside him, not saying anything for what seems like an eternity.

“I’ve known you longer than anyone else here. I knew you before you met Maureen, before you moved to New York. I know you Mark, and this isn’t you. I haven’t seen the real you for a long time now.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. Just keeps staring.

“Mark, I’ve been through this shit. I went through it after April died, you were there. You know as well as I do that this doesn’t lead to anything good, and we both know that Mimi can’t come bail you out like she did with me.”

He stays silent.

“Dammit Mark! Why won’t you fucking let me in?” I grab his shoulders and force him against the back of the couch, shaking him.

“You know what’s gonna happen? What’s going to happen if you keep doing this? You’re going to die Mark! You’re going to fucking die before I do.” I stop shaking and let go of his shoulders as I stand up, tears running down my face. My voice is quieter now, less angry, more pleading.

“Mark you have to eat, get out of the loft, go hide behind your camera for all I care, but do something. Please.” The last part comes out as barely a whisper. I can’t stand seeing him like this anymore, seeing my best friend broken. I grab my coat and leave the loft. I can only pray that he does something before it’s too late.

Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled at him. Maybe I should have yelled at him more. Maybe I should have said something sooner, before he closed off completely. I was the person closest to him; I should’ve been the one to stop this from happening.

It’s all my fault
___

I sit down on the couch in the middle of the loft and sigh. I just took Roger a bowl of cereal that’s supposed to pass as ‘dinner’; he probably won’t eat any of it though. Does Mark realize how fucked up we’ve all been since he left? Sometimes I wonder what pushed him to go, but deep down I think I know.

“You don’t understand Thomas, you don’t. Fucking. Understand!” He spat out those last words at me, I had never heard him talk with such spite in his voice.

“I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone I love?” Part of me wanted to say that back to him with just as much spite as he had granted me, but I managed to stay calm and keep my voice level.

“Just shut up, shut the hell up. I don’t need to hear this right now!”

“Mark, calm down, you’re screaming. Some people may actually be trying to sleep.”

“I don’t. Fucking. Care.” At least he lowered his voice a bit this time.

“Boy, you can walk out that door and drive away, spend the rest of your life running away from your problems, or you can stay here with us. We’ll help you Mark. Me, Roger, Maureen, we’re your family. You can abandon us, you can leave me to deal with AIDS by myself, leave Maureen to deal with her eating disorder without anyone to help her, leave Roger to die alone- because you sure as hell know that if you leave he’s never coming out of his room again and there’s no way that he’ll be taking his AZT- but Mark…” I grab his shoulders and force him to look me in the eyes.

“We will never abandon you.” I’ve done all I can; I go back to my room and know that he won’t be there when I wake up.

I’m a damn fool. I pushed him to leave and now all our lives are crumbling. Why did I give him the choice to stay or go? He used to listen to me, what if I had simply told him he couldn’t leave?

It’s all my fault.

___

I’m driving on a highway, I have no clue where I’m going and frankly, I don’t give a shit. As long as it’s not New York. How could I have done this to them? The people I love most, my family. I was the one that brought them together- I invited Collins to come back to town for Christmas that year, I forced Roger to go after Mimi, I introduced Maureen to the group, and it was me that drove her to Joanne. Now Angel and Mimi are gone, and they’ve taken pieces of Collins and Roger with them. Joanne left Maureen and she’s slipped back into her old bulimic habits. If I had never brought them all together, they wouldn’t have had to be torn apart.

It’s all my fault.