Hn. I suppose I'm (slightly) renowned as an angst author ... and don't worry, the rest of my stories will continue in remarkably similar fashion. And a my next installment in "Memories and Battle Scars" has just been posted with lots of bishie-angst, so if that's your cup of tea, go check it out and leave me a nice little review.

However, that's not what I wanted to discuss. I've noticed, in my navigation of the Yuugiou fandom, that most of the angst stories out there follow very similar storylines. And I suppose I'm being a hypocrite, since my Seto/Jou angst piece isn't precisely an original idea, but that's not the point I'm trying to make.

Consider this a satire, if you will. It'll be a series of drabbles, little short scenes easily misinterpreted. I hope I can make you laugh, or at least giggle. Enjoy!

(Insert disclaimer here)

Chapter One: Yuugi angst

He watched, entranced, at the sunlight playing patterns on the silver he held in his hand. So brilliant, so beautiful, so simple and so deadly. He envisioned, for a moment, crimson dulling the wicked glimmer, and he clenched his teeth tightly, pounding a small fist on his bedroom floor.

No. He had not come to this, not yet. He was stronger than this. He would prevail.

But tears of frustration prickled at the corners of his larger violet eyes, and he bit back a cry of pure, unadulterated rage. Everything hurt. He'd been lying on this damned floor for hours, fighting the tears that threatened to spill down his pale cheeks. He was sick of crying, sick of being the overemotional one to his yami's stoic impassivity, sick of everything.

He closed his eyes and rested his chin on the floor, inhaling and exhaling deeply, trying to calm himself.

It wasn't working.

"Rrrrgh!" he growled in frustration, aiming a furious punch at the already-battered wall. Pain exploded in his knuckles and he gasped, cradling the wounded hand to his chest. His fingers closed around the hilt of his weapon and he raised it, admiring once again its delicate, mocking glimmer.

The door swung open.

Yuugi froze, staring into startled crimson eyes. Yami was standing in his doorway, feet rooted to the ground, mouth slightly agape as he took in the scene before him. "Oh, aibou," he whispered sadly.

He crossed the room, gathering his hikari into his arms, pressing Yuugi's tear-streaked face to his chest. "You don't have to do this," he whispered into Yuugi's hair. "Please, aibou, you're only making it worse. What are you doing?"

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" Yuugi exploded, hurling the screwdriver at his yami, shoving the ex-pharaoh away. "I'm trying to fix the damned outlet!"

Yami had to stifle a laugh. There Yuugi was, lying amidst wires and chunks of sheetrock, with a partially-dissected wall boasting evidence of Yuugi's frustration in a series of tiny dents along the baseboard. "Something tells me you're not doing it right, aibou."

A/N: (grins) Heh.