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You're an ANGEL, thank you!!!!

Hey there! I've had such trouble finding a face-claim for my boy Loren, would it be too much trouble for you to take a look around? Doesn't have to be perfect.

Actually, sure. Chips on the table. I'll take a group attendee slot. : ^ )

I'm into it! Watching with interest.

Don't know if there'd be room for me, but GOD do I hate the soulmate thing, count me IN

A dumb shitty kid and his dumb, REALLY shitty girlfriend, as well as ten other randos, beat each other to death for a shitty prize that they all want for some dumb reason.

Yep, that's Running Out of Time! I loved that book when I was a kid.

Oh goodness would I be down for a Pokemon ocxoc!!!!

Marco reeled, wracking his brain to figure out just what in hell he’d been thinking!!??? If he had, in fact, been thinking, which was starting to look unlikely. ‘Let me buy your groceries?’ ‘Let me buy your groceries?’ Could you get any worse? Good lord. Marco felt himself heating up, for… well...

Marco studied the guy carefully— he was, like, all the way hot—to see if he could hear any bells. Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Not from high school, not from flight school or work— maybe he just travelled a lot? Or they visited the same places? Who knew. And then—well, that would explain it...

Marco… existed. That much he knew. Was he still alive? Debatable. Life was pain, and he felt pain, but that could also be the torments of hell. His head hurt—that was the first thing he registered, this sharp slamming pain like a railroad spike driving through his skull. And his throat burned...

A hundred fifty? Shit! That wasn’t that much! Marco could make that much money before the plane even took off. He could keep this guy here forever, looking fly as hell and laughing at his shitty jokes and sitting on him, which, wow. God, why didn’t Marco do this more often? But yes! That was...

It was like a vaudeville show—as soon as JaeJae opened the door to the room, Marco sped in like someone’d hooked him with an invisible cane. Marco paid little attention to the room, drunk as he was, but had he been sober he would have spent some time in checking it out. He’d stayed in hotel...

“Can’t think straight!” Marco proclaimed, skimming his fingers over the ugly wallpaper as they walked. “I’m just too gay.” He stopped on a dime, staring up into the ceiling tile and looking as if he was thinking very hard. Thoughts ran around his head like rabbits, and it was more than his share...

Marco grinned, speeding up his clumsy steps in order to keep pace. “Yeah!” he called, jubilant, his voice in a rather higher part of his usual register. “I’m doin’ great back here! You have a cool ass!” he said, and then gasped, slapping a sweaty hand over his mouth. “Oops! Haha!” He finally...

The bar was finally closing, and Marco was feeling absolutely incredible about life in general. Job? Great. Self-esteem? Great. Taxes? Great. Lackluster love life? Extra great. Greatgreatgreatgreatgreat. Everything was comin’ up Marco. He’d spent the past few hours putzing around the club...

Marco stared into the stripper’s eyes the best he could, his drunken head listing back and forth a little. He smiled, a big goofy stupid thing you might expect to find on the face of a cartoon character who’d just been hit real good over the head. Cheyenne Pepper was preeeeeeetty. Pretty...

I'd be interested! I've never played before, though, if that's going to be a problem.

Marco was pretty certain that he was about to die. Like, seventy percent, at the very least. The only question was /how—/ was he going to spontaneously combust, or skip the flames and go straight to the vaporization? Either way, the physical representation of the song ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’...

It was dark in the club. Atmospheric. And Marco himself was pretty dark, too—so he figured, probably, that Cheyenne Pepper (Good GOD was he going to hate that pun in the morning) couldn’t see him blushing to the tips of his fucking ears. Which was probably an impossible dream, considering...