telophase | Bishounen of the Apocalypse

...why do none of them have glasses?

Oh, and also: The protagonist experiences things like bukkake and a pandemic. Sexually transmitted, I presume.

Angsty: On the surface, he's a mild-mannered physics major who doodles cute little cartoons with punchlines that are only funny if you know more than high school physics. But if you ask him about those necklaces, he will brush you off, then remember some urgent appointment. If you follow him then, you'll find him atop the water tower, toying with them and weeping, as his hair blows in the wind.

The short necklace, with the three beads, was given to him by his true love, a snarky and unprincipled archaelogist who robbed it from a tomb. Unfortunately, the spirit who was buried there was really pissed off about this and cursed him. He died a horrible, painful, lingering death in your arms. But he'd picked up a few magic tricks from old inscriptions, and he willed his spirit into the bead in the long necklace. Maybe someday Angsty can restore him to life. Perhaps with the quantum probability generator he's working on. Meanwhile, he also wears the other necklace because he's daring the spirit to come after him too, so he can kill it in revenge.

...why do none of them have glasses?

Hee! I thought the exact same thing.

Hee! I thought the exact same thing.

Me too!

None of them have glasses because I couldn't find good reference in poses I liked with glasses. :)

Snarky should :P

I join in the glasses begging!

Snarky: That's the unprincipled snarky archaeologist. He robs graves! He steals trinkets to give to his lovers! He learns ancient magic spells! He tears all over the world, frequently without a visa and leaving a trail of littered cigarettes! He's like Indiana Jones, except instead of a whip, he has a small pearl-handled revolver.

Cute: He's cute, he's manic, he drinks too much coffee, and all the high school girls like to get him to wear a sailor suit. Little do they know that he enjoys seducing American sailors, and is a favorite at every port in Japan. He's secretly a pickpocket but no one ever suspects him because he's just so damn cute. When his parents find out (about the pickpocketing, not the sailor fetish) they decide to straighten him out. As a result, the story winds up in a military academy and features a paddle.

Brooding is a saint who encounters non-consensual sex while in a dojo. Wait, let me backtrack.

He's not really a saint, but his parents were psychotics who raped him! In tandem! And then they found a Cult of Suffering based on torturing and molesting him to demonstrate his purity and the holy value of suffering. They were also martial artists who beat him up for the same reasons. Anyway this all took place in a dojo.

One day he snapped and, having become a genius martial artist from having been beaten up so much, he killed them both. In front of the cult. Which is now all after him. The cultists all shaved their heads, so he's grown his hair really long as an extra fuck-you.

He's now earning a living as a hit man, specializing in killing dangerous targets like other martial artists or even other hitmen. He is cold and brooding. He thinks he cares nothing about anyone. He's never had consensual sex. But then he is hired to kill someone. A female assassin. His target is so good that he has to study her at great length before making his move. Through voyeurism he sees a great deal of her life and personality, and he begins to develop strange feelings for the woman he must kill, feelings that he cannot even name...

It seems that I have way more narrative kinks than actual kinks... therefore...

Broody: Your story begins with reincarnation. In an ivy-covered tower there is a darkly Byronic anti-hero who has an unnatural hair color. The protagonist experiences things like a dramatic death scene and a complicated caper plot. It finally ends with physically impossible stunts. (I got this on the first try too!) (I am also stealing a little from Rachel's Broody)

He woke up in the alley, disoriented and alone. A sliver of moon peeked out from behind dark clouds, and his silver hair whipped across his face, thanks to the icy wind.

"Wait.. no... I'm here to help you!" he remembered saying to a woman with a scarred eye.

Except he hadn't; he'd been sent there to kill her. But in order to do so, he'd had to learn her habits, her haunts. He'd had to anticipate every move she made, every thought she had. And he found she was as good as he was, if not better.

"You shouldn't have drank the coffee," she said as she smiled coldly down at him. "Did you think I wouldn't notice you following me?"

"You're so beautiful..." he said as he died in her arms.

He had to find her. She was still in danger from the people who had hired him. He staggered to his feet and surveyed the streets from the cover of darkness.

The world had changed: spindly glass towers tearing the sky, cars screeching through the air above.

Still, he knew she was somehow still in this new world, and that he had to find her -- no matter how many lifetimes it would take.

Angsty: The plot starts because of a misunderstanding about running for the joy of it. The protagonist, a deceptively skinny man who has prison tats, ends up in a city street at night full of different people and languages with an orphan.

He panted as he ducked into an arcane shop. His morning run had just gotten several times more exciting.

"Restroom?" he asked. The boy at the counter waved him over to the left. "Thank you, and have a nice day!" he said over his shoulder, brushing aside the curtain of beads.

Hopefully they wouldn't think to look for him there. They weren't after him (at least he didn't think so), but once they caught him and saw his tattoos, he would be thrown into a cell again.

He slipped out a back door into the night streets, pausing for a moment to savor the smell of barbequed meat and the sound of vendors hawking their wares.

"Fifty credits for the necklace?" someone asked him.

"This? I'm very sorry, this one isn't for sale," he said, clutching the swinging pendant.

He smiled and tried not to grimace -- "To remind you of your sins," the man said as he pressed the pendant into his hand -- but the past was catching up to him.

Snarky: Your narrative is one where nothing goes right unless it's accidental. It begins in a speakeasy. There is the changing of the seasons and an erudite criminal who meets a caring mentor. It ends with a solitary journey to an unknown destination.

Fuck. So far, he had just gotten thrown out of his apartment, dumped by his girlfriend (whose apartment it had actually been), and slapped by his other girlfriend (who had just met the first one). He wasn't sure what else could go wrong --

"That's our guy," he heard, just as someone pushed him against the bar and handcuffed his hands behind his back.

-- fuckety fuck. Of course, given his latest little investment and his side business in moonshine, the sky seemed to be the limit.

A few hours later:

"Hey! Hey, don't I get a lawyer or something?" Silence. "No? Can you at least take off the handcuffs? I'm in a fucking jail cell, for fuck's sake!" Silence. "Oh, come on! How about a cigarette?"

To his surprise, a scruffy man in a tweed suit and incongruous dark glasses walked over.

"Cigarette?"

"Please."

The man took out a box and shook out a cigarette. Not his preferred brand, but he wasn't about to protest. The scruffy man's thumb brushed over his lips.

"You've got a pretty mouth."

Great. Just what he needed, some guy coming on to him. He took a drag of the cigarette.

"Look," the scruffy guy said, "we know what you've been up to. But if you work for us, we can do something about your record, and hopefully your abysmal luck."

"My luck's not that-- argh!" The cigarette fell out of his mouth.

"So partner," the scruffy guy continued, "whaddya say?"

Cute: Your story begins with loyalty beyond any reason or expectation. In a sleeper car in a train there is a well-dressed man in a position of power who has an attitude problem. The protagonist experiences things like chocolate with raspberry sauce and tacos. It finally ends with an intense stare. (Clearly this is Sanzo and Goku, version 2.0)

"I hate you," the man said.

"You always say that," the younger man replied, undeterred from his taco consumption. "I love trains. They're so great! I mean -- look at how tiny our bathroom is! How did they even manage to get a toilet in there?"

The man glared at him as he loosened his tie, took off his cuff links, and rolled up his sleeves.

"I should leave you behind at the next stop. You're never going to stop talking."

"Nope! Unless -- hey, wait, they have chocolate sundaes! Rock!"

The man whapped him on the head. "Why did I ever bother to take you along?"

The younger man grinned after swallowing the last giant bite of taco. "Because I give great blowjobs?"

He reached for the man, greasy fingers leaving stains on the man's crisp Egyptian cotton shirt.

"Goddamnit, be more -- aaah! God, yes."

Later:

The man stared at his very rumpled traveling companion.

"Why do you put up with me?"

The younger man grinned and kissed him on the nose. "Because you feed me, duh."

after i exercise, it's on. ahhaha

Really loving this discussion ... but I think I better not look at it again until I get home to my own computer ...! ;-)

They're quite nice, but I think Brooding needs to be contemplating talking to his clenched fist. Fist-talking is a necessary skill if you are going to really brood. Just ask Batman.

The story begins with abuse of power, and ends with an oil lamp. It features a beloved captive and a geek, but the overall narrative is about discovery of one's orientation.

our dear pal the brooding monster over there has just discovered he is totally queer! oh! how it hurts his soul! whats worse?! he's in love with a geek. OH GOSH.

but no, you think he could get over that? that it would be simple?

NOPE. this is a post apoc nightmare and a band of geeks killed his beloved fiancee before his eyes. WHY? FOR POWER. ELECTRICAL POWER. They couldn't be hacking any mainframes without power, and there's no reason why they can't kill the power generator's owner's daughter to get some, right?

so now, WHAT?

how can he be in love with someone who upholds the standard of MURDER, while similtainiously killing both his SEXUALITY and his LOVER. not to mention, he's being held HOSTAGE by them.

and only given an oil lamp to mumble about this over,
and to stare in to that gorgeous geek's face when no one else is around ;;

(obv he talks to himself a lot AND TALKS TO NO ONE.

OH
IT IS ALL
A HUGE
HUGE
SECRET!)

The villain of this piece is a prefect or head boy, while the hero is a greedy bottom. The plot begins with tempers rising with the heat in an apocalyptic world. The ending includes elements of a thigh-holster and playing hard to get.

you also can't tell me the cute one is not a greedy bottom. look at his face. it seems so cute! so adorable! so, i ran track in high school, do you like my letter jacket?!. so oblivious to all the female hardons the girls on the cheering team had for him.

his sweet little face gets all those boys to his yard. Esp the most smartest boy in class, but once he falls under 'em,

UHOH.

greedygreedygreedy. his cute smile starts to chomp and he's like MOAR MOAR AND YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG. but he's so cute! how can you say no?! how can you deny him of his unrelentling sexual necessity!?

THERE IS NO POSSIBLE WAY!!!!!

and when you give him enough and you hope you can give him some more again. he giggles and grins and WALKS AWAY.

GONE.

because he's so hard to get ;D

I like that generator:

"Your story begins with a hit man in a tent. The villain is an adrenaline junkie who has a nickname. Plot elements include flirting with food and an epiphany."

(emphasis added)

Telophase, I hate you.

And LJ hates the length of my comment, evidently.
===

"I'm a god," the stranger said, his gloved hands folded neatly on the scarred tabletop. The red globes of the hanging paper lanterns reflected from the mirrored sunglasses that hid his eyes. "And I'm looking for volunteers."

He considered this, mind struggling through the dim haze of opium smoke. The stranger's thigh brushed against his own under the table, black leather on black suede. "If you're a god," he said, "can you bring people back from the dead?"

The stranger tilted his head to one side. "Of course. In fact, it frequently happens. Usually with bad consequences. I warn you, disembodied heads in jars are frequently involved."

He took a long, thoughtful drag on his pipe, staring out across the crowded room. The flickering shadows of the revellers on the dancefloor formed ever-shifting, intricate patterns, merging and separating. "Could you bring me back?"

One silver eyebrow raised above the sunglasses. "You're remarkable talkative, for a corpse." The stranger paused, as though thinking. "Actually, I shouldn't be surprised. Things like this happen to me all the time."

Opium fumes swirled before his eyes, the dancer's forms running together like water. "I could be dead. but it wouldn't be enough." His own pale face looked back at him, twinned, from the black, reflective lenses. "He could kill me," he said dreamily, looking into his eyes. His hand rose to toy with the beads around his neck - but only the green one, on its single long chain; the three nestling in the hollow of his throat could never be touched, not even by him. "He could do everything to me that I deserve. And then you could make me alive again, and he could do it again. And again. And again. And then maybe, that would be enough."

The stranger sat back, pushing his sunglasses up his nose with one long finger. "You," he said, "are _definitely_ one of the ones I am looking for. Will you come with me?" He paused. "I think I should warn you that that double-entendre is, unfortunately, probably entirely accurate."

The bowl of the opium pipe was empty of everything but ashes. "Like my heart," he said aloud, looking down into it.

"Now you're overdoing it," said the stranger. "Just come with me. Here." He plucked something from the back of his chair and held it out.

"My soul," he mumbled, as the stranger helped him into the long trenchcoat, "is like a black, black... coat. And my hat," it was placed upon his head, "o'erhangs me like a... hat."

"Blessed Mary Sue, mother of us all," muttered the stranger, "I'd better find the next one quick before I find myself creating a LiveJournal."

"No-one Friends me on my LiveJournal," he said plaintively, as he was steered through the crowd. Bright colours spun around him. He reached out at random, seeking something, anything to hold on to.

"Whoa!"

Somehow, he was on the floor. Wide brown eyes blinked at him, a small, pert nose nearly touching his own.

"Will you be my LiveJournal friend?" he said, sadly.

"Sure!" the kid chirped. "Uh - who are you?"

The stranger's hand appeared on the boy's shoulder, hauling him away, then reached down and took his own hand. "My friend," the stranger said, pulling him to his feet, "I will not ask you to dispel your cloud of emo. I _need_ your cloud of emo. However, please attempt at least to see through your own darkness for long enough to get out the door." He felt the stranger's finger trace his cheekbone, lightly. "You are emo," the stranger whispered, mouth brushing his ear, "but you are no longer alone."

"Oh wow," said the kid, watching with wide eyes and a hitch in his breathing. "That was beautiful. I mean, that was really cool."

The stranger looked down at him "You are wearing," the stranger said, slowly, "a pink-and-purple jockey silks, white leggings, and glittery silver rollerskates. Also, I note, sparkly eyeshadow."

The kid did a fast twirl on the skates, pirouetting. Light seemed to flash into being around him, as though the sun itself loved him. "Yep!"

"At a party in an opium den," the stranger said, a little plaitively. His head moved, as though checking that the scene hadn't mysteriously changed.

"Yep!" The kid spun again. "On these, I can really move on the dancefloor!" He came to an abrupt halt, canted like a pointing gundog. "Oh wow, look - jelly shots!"

The stranger's hand clamped onto the back of the kid's purple shirt. "You," he said, "are _also_ one of the people I am looking for."

"I am?" The kid looked up at him. "Cool! Will there be pizza? Uh - dude?" The stranger had spun the boy around on the spot, and was now inspecting the pert buttocks beneath the white jockey silks with an air of intense concentration. "Geezer? Do you mind?"

The sunglasses were now peering very intently at the boy's shaggy hair. "Are you sure you don't have cat ears?"

The boy's hands patted nervously at the top of his own head. "Uh - no?"

"Huh." The stranger straightened up again. "How strange."

He blinked at the boy. "Uh, is he really coming with us?" he said. "Are you sure about this, god-man?"

"God?" The boy blinked.

"We'll get to that later," the stranger told the boy. He turned back to him. "Yes, he is coming with us."

He thrust his hands into the depths of his trenchcoat and hunching his shoulders moodily. "What do you need him for? You asked _me_ first. Have you decided that I'm not good enough?" He stared down at the bead on its chain, lying over his heart. "I mean, I know I'm not good enough, but-"

"You really, really, really need some candy," the boy said to him. He looked up at the stranger. "Can we go get some get some candy? Or - hey! I know this really great place that does all-night-"

The stranger abruptly leaped onto a bar stool, balancing high above the crowd with his arms thrown out. "FOR THE LOVE OF HOT NAKED BUTTSEX!" he shouted, in a sudden, strange pause in the music. "I NEED A DECENT CONVERSATIONALIST, NOW!"

The crowd stared up at him.

"Bollocks," said the stranger, leaping down again in a flare of leather. "I was hoping the third one would be here too. Come on you two."

"Where are we going?" he asked dazedly, as he and the boy were swept up in the stranger's wake.

The stranger paused in the doorway, staring out into the night. "Which do you think has the best chance of having a decent internet connection: a monastry, a nunnery, a seraglio, a Turkish bath, a ship, or a hotel with only one room left?"

He and the boy stared at the stranger, then at each other.

"Er.." said the boy, "the hotel?"

"Then that," the stranger said, "is where we're going. I have an urgent need to consult the Mystery Science Theatre message board." He led the three of them down the-

Three of them?

He stared up at the third man. Six foot six of hulking, scarred, pony-tailed muscle in a black leather trench stared back.

"Wow," said the kid, weakly. "Now that's a _tall_ drink of water. Hi!"

The man transferred his flat, expressionless gaze to the kid, whose smile started to wilt like a sunflower in an atomic blast.

He grabbed the stranger's sleeve, forcing him to stop. "God-man, _who the hell is that?!_"

"Ah," the stranger said, peering through his sunglasses without surprise at the human wall following them. "That would be my silent, brooding ex-supersoldier."

"Where did he _come_ from?"

The stranger shrugged. "You shouldn't ask these things of supersoldiers. It generally takes around three plot-arcs to find out, and the answers are always nasty. He's coming with us, anyway. He was the first one of you I found."

"Wait." He blinked. "You found _me_ first."

The stranger shook his head.

"But I didn't even _see_ Mr Tall Dark and Brooding!"

"Yes," the stranger said patiently. "He's _good_."

He shrugged. "He's another one of you, so get used to him."

"Ok." He caught the stranger's coat-sleeve again as he turned away. "And just who are we anyway?"

"You?" The stranger turned again, a strange feral smile twisting his lips. "Don't you know? You're the Four-" He stopped.

"Four what?" prompted the kid.

"I'm not bringing horses into this," the stranger muttered, seemingly to himself. "No mangaka can draw them worth a damn, not to speak of the terrible jerky animation." He raised his voice. "Let's call you... the Four Bishounen."

"Wow," the kid breathed, eyes widening. "Can I be War?"

"I am going to be Death," he announced, hastily. A hand the size and weight of a bulldozer's shovel fell on his shoulder, driving him to his knees. "Er," he said, looking up at the expressionless eyes. "That is, I really want to be, er, Famine. _You_ should definately be Death."

"Bishounen," the stranger repeated evenly. "Not Horsemen. Angsty, Brooding, Cute, and Snarky."

"I'm not snarky!" the kid exclaimed indignantly.

They looked at him, from spiky bleached hair to glittery silver wheels.

"Oh," he said, in a small voice. He bit his lip. "So... he's," his finger pointed at the living wall, "Brooding, and he is _totally_ Angsty-"

"I'm not-" he started, then wilted as every eye fell on him. "Okay," he grumbled, hunching his shoulders. "But I have good reasons! I'd tell you, but it would be too much for my cursed, suffering soul."

"Riiight," said the kid. He turned to the stranger. "So you're Snarky?"

The stranger shook his silver head. "I will find Snarky," he said, "when the stars are right." He looked mildly peeved. "That should be around one in the morning, when the writer is on her fifth cup of coffee and is able to tackle his dialogue."

"So if you aren't Snarky," the kid asked, brow furrowing.

"Me?" The stranger smiled that white, feral smile again. "I am the one who has been prophesised. The one who was but a distant rumour that fanboys laughed at, not seeing the infiltration of their beloved dens until it was too late. I am the one who replaced A4 magazines with small, exorbitantly priced books that are even printed the right way round. It is I who stalk the sweaty conventions, so that masses of the unwashed draw back in fear and loathing from my lovingly-sewn cosplay robes. I am the one who brings pages and pages of slash fanfiction in response to their cautious Googling for their beloved characters." He dipped his head, so that his sunglasses slid down his nose, revealing impossibly large, vivid eyes. Tiny starbursts blazed within them. "I am the Anti-Comic, and before me all things shall be made anew."

He straightened again, shrugging, and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Also," he said, "I am a total authorial-insert character. Never mind. Shall we go remake the world now?"

You win at everything. I especially like your failure to come up with actual snarky dialogue, necessitating a missing character as a plot point.

*bows* Alas, poor Snarky!

You may hate me, but I love you. XDDD

I HATE YOU BECAUSE I CAN'T STOP THINKING OF MORE.

(They go to a hotel room, where Cute and Angsty get up each others noses until Brooding sits on them both, while Anti-Comic surfs the web, where he finds Snarky hanging out on a message board, and persuades him to join up, but Snarky will only interact via IRC, so Angsty accuses him of not really being a bishounen, at which point Snarky refuses to communicate with Angsty except in lolcat macros - "CHEER UP EMO-KITTEN" - but is finally persuaded by to set up a webcamera, whereupon he is revealed to be a red-headed stud smoking a cigarette and flicking V-signs at Angsty through the web-camera, and Cute thinks he's totally hot so starts flirting with him via text, only Snarky doesn't realise Cute isn't a girl and gets blind-sided at the end of their steamy chat session - "SURPRISE! BUTTSECKS!" - and Brooding is even more broody because he secretly really fancies Cute, and Angsty and Snarky are sulking while Cute gets high on sugar from the minibar and Anti-Comic is all "OMG am I stuck with these guys?", and then Cute falls asleep on Brooding, leaving him stuck in an awkward position because he won't move and risk Cute waking up and moving, and Anti-Comic falls asleep and Angsty realises how vulnerable he looks when he's sleeping and wants to curl up behind him, but of course he is immediately crushed with feelings of guilt and unworthiness, and ends up on IRC with Snarky at two in the morning having one of those touching broken conversations where both parties are trying to be cool and hide their feelings but really they are all so broken and bleeding and then the next morning Anti-Comic gets them all together again to announce that they need to take a road trip and TELOPHASE I HATE YOU)

It's the Saiyuki ikkou, take 2! And Anti-Comic is Kanzeon!

Now all they need is a pimped out ride that turns into a unicorn.

You win! This was awesome. I started laughing out loud at "I warn you, disembodied heads in jars are frequently involved." and haven't stopped!

I confess, I was specifically thinking of you when I wrote that line. :-D

I am proud to have inspired more narratives with heads in jars ^____^.

Cute's name is Adrian. Adrian goes to high school and is the only boy in the cheering squad; he gets teased about it, a little, but he doesn't really mind. He gets to watch all the games and never gets caught staring at the girls in their short shorts and the boys in their shorter shorts. It distracts him from the dirty, nasty thoughts he sometimes has about his sister.

One Halloween, he dresses in sailor fuku and goes to a party in a part of town he's never been to before, and is deflowered by a girl in dominatrix gear who bears more than a passing resemblance to his sister. It's the happiest night of his life.

Snarky's single mother dies in an avalanche when he's only eighteen months old. His only surviving relative is his maternal grandfather, a chain-smoking, cheerfully perverse man who swings his cane like a samurai sword at anyone threatening. Snarky (whose real name may be Adam) lives with Grandpa until his fifteenth birthday, when he comes home to find the old guy face-down in the cat food and cold as a brick.

Justifiably terrified at the foster care placement of a snarky, chain-smoking fifteen-year-old with an attitude problem the size of a small continent, Snarky threw his stuff in a backpack and took to the streets. His original plan-- selling his ass for small change-- fell through when he realized that his attitude wasn't made for customer service. He fell into a whorehouse, where he's now the snarky, chain-smoking seventeen-year-old bouncer. They love him there.

Also? I could totally hook up Snarky and Cute.

Brooding's always been alone. It's no big deal. He doesn't understand why people make a big deal about it. And he just likes trenchcoats. Is that so wrong?

He went to the dojo, not to find himself or any shit like that, just to have something to do. He wasn't lonely or anything.

He trained for five years, body and mind, and found his center. He was still alone, but hell, he didn't care. As he rose in proficiency, his rivalry with the dojo's top student, Simone, increased. On the day he finally defeated her, she betrayed him to his sensei, and he was cast out of the dojo.

He went to a goth club and began bartending. In the dark.

(to be continued)

Bwahaha! Oh, the dark bartending!

It's because he's a Slytherin.

Angsty (whose name is Liam) was as happy as cute until his sixteenth birthday. He found out then he was the second cousin once removed of the Antichrist-- consider him the Distant Relative of the Beast. That part, honestly, wasn't so bad. The bad part was his power; nearly limitless but almost impossible to control. He killed his twin brother and mother before he gained any control at all, and their deaths weighed heavily on him. To try to atone for his dark blood and darker deeds, he began life as a crimefighter, hiding behind a mask to secure his identity. It brought him relief and a use for his powers, but no peace.

Then one night he chased a woman's attacker into a goth club. The attacker turned out to be more dangerous than he could have dreamed-- another long-lost cousin with powers equal to his own. Things looked bleak until, out of the blue, the bartender knocked his cousin over the head with a beer bottle. A small action, but it gave Liam the distraction he needed, and he defeated his dark cousin.

Later that night, he unmasked himself to the bartender; the first person he revealed his secret to. They made mad, passionate love.

Together, they fight crime.

Ahhh! I never noticed this before!
I will post something later today... hopefully/
As for now, it is 2:30am. Lol.
Goodnight.

(I'll try to make it good. I really want that "Brooding" keychain.)

(deleted comment)

...which reads right-to-left. For some reason. I completely did not realize I'd done that until just now.

XD I am amazed by the outpouring of creativity so far. I really oughta do this more often.

What, offer free stuff? :-P

People will do a lot for a simple keychain, it seems. XD

(I keep thinking about holding some sort of contest for something-or-other, as I have a DVD of Saiyuki Reload Gunlock to give away. But I never get around to thinking up an appropriate contest to hold. XD)

Correction - people will do a lot for Telophase art. :-D

Or in my case, people will do a lot for absolutely nothing except the desire to procrastinate!

Hrm, I probably shouldn't have told you that...

Angsty’s mother was a solder, and she gave birth to him still wearing her summer battledress, on a narrow cot in the medical barracks. His first memory was of jungle splotched camouflage, and later of being toted along from base to base like an extra dufflebag, to be dumped and forgotten in dusty peeling army lodgings that smelled of boots and damp. He was sure she loved him, in her own way. But he spent a lot of time on his own.

Not that he minded. He had his books, and he had school, and later, he discovered he had the kind of body that people would pay good money to use. He had the kind of mind that got him noticed too. He was a smart boy, they said. Would go far. They both got him through college well enough, until the day his mother killed herself, and then the world stopped working right. He stopped being so nice to his clients, and they never came back, or sometimes even ran screaming. His professors tried to talk to him, because he kept saying things in class that made the room go quiet. And then one day he met a tall man in a dark suit and those sorts of glasses that changed into sunglasses in the light. The man offered him a job, and he took it.

[Your narrative is a Pretty Woman scenario. It begins in a barracks. There is paying one's way through school by prostitution and a ruthless character who meets a god. It ends with power reversals.]

Snarky wondered if his day could get any worse. Which fucking moron had let a wolf loose in the city? He could see it, bold as anything, trotting towards him along the pavement. It’s face was white and he could see the colour of its eyes as it got closer, orange and glowing. That wasn’t right. It was looking about, as if it knew who it wanted to find. It squatted on its haunches and howled, and that’s when the street went crazy. Some guy ran past him, screaming. Loser.

Okay, he had a gun on him, a really pretty gun, but he didn’t want to use it, because apparently the last user, recently found very messily dead in bed, had a thing about pushing gun barrels up his ass. Unbelievable. Never trust a pervert with a gun, that was his motto.

The wolf was waiting for him, and now the street was empty. Scared faces gazed out, like he was going to save them or something. Well, they’d got that wrong.

[This story begins as a rebel investigates a mystery about a gun used for sexual pnetration. Clues include forcing one's partner's neck down and computers taking over. The villain is revealed to be an animagus.]

Snarky:

Yeah. So. My day is going like my day always does. Some dumbass says something dumbass, and I can't cap 'em.

Yet.

I just washed this shirt, after all, and blood? Is a bitch to get out of white and I'm outta bleach, since I also just dyed my hair yesterday. Because I AM prettier than you and plan to keep it that way.

Anyway. This dumbass in need of capping is safe until I'm wearing black.

...Or maybe I'll just kick 'em in the crotch.

Brooding:

I..hurt myself today...to see if I still feel...I...focus on the pain...the only thing that's...real...

Bishounen of the Apocalypse

There is trustingness and a cat-girl who meets a castrato.

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It starts in a Jacuzzi and ends in a bathhouse

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lets see what we got here::

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Part 2

Part 3

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I decided not to read anyone else's. This could be good, or bad.

Snarky.

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Brooding!

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Angsty, the sequel to Brooding! Where I use the word 'dark' too much.

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Angsty!

Snarky

Now with the right icon!