A/N: Updated! Finally! So sorry for the wait. My comp crashed and I lost everything, and then we had to get it fixed, yada yada yada. Anyway, this is the last chapter, I'm sorry for it being so long,LMAO. Enjoy and R&R!
Disclaimer: Heh like I own anything.
"So what is this 'fanfiction' again?" Roger munched on his dinner of gummy worms and stale chips (yum), and watched his friend roll his eyes for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night.
"Didn't I already explain this to you a few chapters ago and last chapter?"
"Well the writer decided to make you explain it to me again. Why does she make me so stupid?"
The writer coughs, blushes, and slowly backs away, regretting the fact that she repeated Mark explaining to Roger what fanfiction was. Two times.
"Look, it's where-- "
Mark was interrupted by a knock on the door. This usually didn't happen unless the author is too lazy to do the whole 'throw down the key' thing.
Mark slowly opened the door to the loft and there stood Thomas Collins, tears running down his face.
"Oh my God what happened?" Roger decided to move his ass off the couch and walked towards his friend.
"She's….dead."
"Who? Who is dead?" Mark put an arm around Collins and moved him to their couch.
Collins slowly sat down, and put his head in his hands.
"Angel….Ang…she's gone…"
Mark and Roger both gasped and slow violin music started to play.
"Where the hell is that coming from?" Mark looked up and slowly made his way to their window. He spotted two teenagers, one was holding a violin while the other was setting up a tent.
Both looked up, spotting Mark, and the music was cut short with a screech, and the girls where waving at a now very pissed off Mark.
"GET AWAY! WE DON'T WANT YOU HERE!" Mark starting waving his hands at them, but the girls took this as a friendly gesture, waved even faster at him.
"LEAVE US ALONE!"
The girls started yelling at Mark again, calling him Jesus.
"GO AWAY!" Mark yelled, and with that, slammed the window shut.
Mark resumed his place on their couch, Collins and Roger both staring at him.
"Fangirls." He explained, shrugging his shoulders.
Both nodded in the familiarity of the word, and continued to cry.
"Look, Collins, I'm so sorry about her. Was it peaceful?" Mark grabbed some tissues from their table and dabbed his eyes.
Collins slowly moved his head up and down, and took out a joint from his pocket. "We were just watching a TV movie and then she just….was gone."
Mark and Roger both nodded, and Mark glanced at Roger, who was looking at him.
Suddenly, he felt a spark. He was in love with Roger. He had to be.
"So uh, Angel is dead, right?" Mark slowly tore himself away from Roger's gorgeous eyes and Collins furrowed his brow at his friend.
"Uh, yeah."
Mark just raised his eyebrows and nodded, and he glanced over at Roger who was still staring at him.
It was love.
"Well uh, that's too bad, Collins, but you'll get over it…sing a song or two, don't worry. She'll just appear on that stage again."
Collins looked at his friend, wondering what the hell had gotten into him.
"Um okay…thanks?" The teacher was starting to feel he wasn't welcomed anymore.
The writer invites Collins over to her place.
Mark quickly got up from their couch, pulled on the anarchist's arm and dragged him to the door.
"So yeah, nice seeing you again." Mark pushed the roadblock aka Collins out of the loft and slammed the door behind him.
"So…" He walked towards Roger, smiling seductively.
"So.." Roger munched on some more chips and sat back in his chair.
Mark started towards the couch and then stopped, looked at Roger again, and sat himself down into Roger's lap.
"Dude, what are you doing?" Roger nearly dropped his chips, but quickly sat them on the table.
"You were staring at me while Collins was here." Mark purred, running his hands through Roger's hair. He was getting lucky tonight.
"Man, you have problems. You had some food on the side of your face. I was hinting for you to get a napkin or something."
"But…don't you want me? Don't you hate Mimi? You want me right? Cause you always do…haven't you heard of MarkxRoger? M/R? 'When Mimi isn't looking'?"
"Dude, you are crushing my leg and no! Get the hell off of me! Go find Maureen or film something." Roger pushed Mark off his lap onto the floor. Mark came crashing to the ground and his head flopped back, hitting it off of the table.
For a few minutes he blacked out, but could hear Roger yelping about how much his leg hurt.
Suddenly he awoke and sat himself up.
"I think you broke my leg, you bastard." Roger was now clutching his leg, wondering what was gonna kill him first: The death penalty for killing Mark, dying of AIDS, or his leg.
"But why did you push me?" Mark was now standing and rubbing his head.
"Because you came onto me!"
"What? No! No I didn't!"
"Yes you did!"
Mark sighed, he couldn't of. Roger was his best friend. Why would some writers make them cannon? Why would some writers write this at all?
There was a knock on the door again and Mark went to answer it.
"Mark!" a rather cheery Collins greeted his friend and hugged him.
"Dude, weren't you here like a few minutes ago? Isn't Angel dead?"
Collins cocked an eyebrow at Mark. "Man, what are you talking about?" Collins looked at Roger. "What is he talking about?"
Roger just shrugged and then it came to him.
"He must of entered the world of 'Mark and Roger are Cannon and Angel is Dead and Nothing Can Stop Us'. See, I read up on this. This is where writers, usually under 15, write about us in a relationship….and Angel is usually dead." Roger smiled and munched on even more chips. Damn he loved chips. Hell, Roger loved food.
Mark's eyes opened wide at the thought of this. "No…no…no way. I couldn't of."
"Don't worry, it's Collins fault too. He tells us Angel is dead, but she never is. It's all in the state of mind or something like that. I just go along with it, but I never expected you to do that…man, that was just creepy. What if Mimi walked in?"
"Don't worry Mark; I seem to enter the realm of MaRaCaAiD too. Heh, we can just call it Maracaid. Mar- ass- aid. Sounds like some kind of drug." Collins laughed and took another drag from his joint.
"But I….I'm not that kind of person…I mean, I like gay people, hell, I hang out with them half the time, but I'm straight." Mark shook his head and buried it in his hands.
Roger nodded and found words of reassurance. "Well if you were gay, that'd be okay. We'd shout 'hurray'! But I'm not gay." Roger smiled and finished off the bag of chips.
"Shut up I'm trying to read." Mark picked up a random magazine and started to flip through it. Why does everybody think I'm gay? Even my mom does. Mark continued to flip through the magazine, hiding his face from his friends. When will these fanfic writers ever learn?
While Mark sat in his misery, Collins and Roger were chatting it up.
"Man, your leg looks pretty bad; I think you might need a cane."
"A cane? What the hell…I'm not old, I don't need a cane." Roger crossed his arms and looked down at his leg that was now deformed, a few bones were jetting out the side of it. What was Collins talking about? It was perfectly fine.
"How did it happen to you anyway?" Collins asked, and suddenly he had the munchies, and craved for pickles and cranberries.
Roger shifted his eyes at the question and shrugged. "Eh long story."
Accepting that answer, Collins got off his chair and moved towards the kitchen.
"Do you guys, uh, have any pickles around here?" He nervously laughed and looked through the cupboards. All he could find was some old cheese, leftover sausages and some tuna.
"Pickles? No. Roger hates them. Along with any other food that exists. Besides chips and gummy worms." Mark had finally put down the magazine. Reading about people Mark didn't know wasn't too interesting, so that's why he read fanfiction instead. He could get made-up gossip about his friends.
Collins pouted and searched around for another joint in his pocket. Suddenly, he found something he was sure Mark would love.
"Uh Mark, I haven't seen you with your scarf--"
"Scarfy." Mark corrected Collins subtly.
"Yeah, um, Scarfy. Anyway, I found this on the way to your place."
Almost like a miracle, Collins pulled out the beloved striped scarf from his vest pocket.
"SCARFY!" Mark screamed, running over to his first love (meaning the scarf, not Collins), carefully inspecting it over a few times, and finally snuggled with it.
"Did those fangirls hurt you? Don't tell me they ripped you or anything." Mark asked the scarf, er, Scarfy, and started to sooth it and sing to it, wandering back to his room to do God only knows with it.
Mind out of the gutter, kids.
Collins glanced at Roger.
"He so needs to get laid."
"I'd say so."
"And you need a cane, so here."
Using the magical powers only Thomas Collins can possess, our favorite Anarchist with the snap of his fingers and like BAM!, a cane was made.
Roger sighed and took the cane that Collins was holding, slowly standing up.
"Hey I'm cured! My leg is fixed! Collins, I think you are the true hero of this story."
"I do too Rog, I do too."
So our Emo Rocker and Happy Anarchist-Stoner sat back and drank a Bohemian or two, Mark running Scarfy along his neck (Mark/Scarf writers rejoice), the three waiting for their lives to be screwed up, once again, by fanfiction writers everywhere.
Please R&R! Thank you for all the feedback!