#your on THIN ICE buster

[cosmonaut775]

“I’m just gonna squeeze right past ya there” is a certified WVE banger I’m pretty proud of us for that

[t3acupz]

🩻🤍💉 Brownham Medwhump May 💉🤍🩻

9. Self-inflicted

The first time, it happened by accident. Will was gutting a freshly caught trout, running the thin knife across its belly when his hand slipped, and he nicked his finger. He was surprised when the pain felt… good. That nightmarish scene flashed in his mind like a movie on an old VHS tape. Grainy images, seeing himself in third person, like it wasn’t really him watching Abigail bleed to death. He touched the smile across his abdomen, Hannibal’s parting gift to him.

“You’re bleeding!” Matthew hurried over to Will from the cozy fireplace where moments before he was petting Buster. The younger man took Will’s hand, and brought him to the sink. “Let’s wash off the blood, okay?” Matthew would sometimes catch Will in these dazed states but they were becoming more frequent. Will didn’t have to tell him what was troubling him, he already knew by the name he refused to mention. Even when Matthew would bring up Hannibal Lecter, Will would get quiet, and mumble that he needed to go work on his boat or take the dogs out for a walk.

Matthew could live with the fact that some wounds won’t heal. That living with Will also meant living with the memory of Hannibal. It was a peculiar love triangle, one that Matthew acknowledged, and Will pretended did not exist.

The second time was deliberate. The shower was on but Will was in front of the mirror, staring at his own reflection until he could see after images of Hannibal’s face when he blinked. He took one of the razors in his medicine cabinet, and ran a finger over the edge. A red droplet stained the porcelain sink. You and I have begun to blur. He pressed down on his wrist, going in a vertical line, watching the blood trickle out like the branching pattern of a sprawling tree’s roots.

Matthew had given Hannibal those wrist scars, by proxy. But the ownership of them belonged to Will, and Will alone.

He was about to begin on his other arm when the knocking on the bathroom door became louder, more frantic. “Will?! You’ve been in there for an hour, please, open the door.” Matthew begged, falling on his knees and hitting his fist against the doorframe.

Will felt like he was under water but he wasn’t standing in the shower. He was in a stream, watching the Ravenstag move across the dappled sunlight on the edge of the forest. He could hear a distant banging, but he didn’t know where it was coming from.

Matthew broke down the door with a final hard kick. Will was on the floor of the bathroom, water was pooling all around him from the overflowing bathtub.

“NO!! WILL— GOD NO!” Matthew picked up the unconscious man, and brought him to the queen sized bed. He quickly ran down the stairs to fetch the first aid kit, and spent the next hour stitching the four inch long cut on Will’s left wrist.

Will was pale, his body felt ice cold. Matthew wrapped him in layers of blankets as Winston laid by his master’s feet, warming his toes. Hours had gone by, and the younger man was about to call an ambulance when Will spoke with a hoarse voice. “Don’t.”

Matthew threw down his phone, and cradled Will in his arms. “You don’t have to kill yourself,” He cried, grabbing Will so tightly that the older man was starting to become faint again. “He’s still out there, he’s alive. We’ll find him one day, I promise. But don’t leave me here alone.”

Tears welled up in Will’s eyes. “I can still feel him. He’s everywhere and nowhere. He’s in my head.” Will sobbed into Matthew’s shoulder.

Matthew grabbed Will’s face with both hands, and forced Will to look him in the eyes. “I don’t care if you still want him. I love you. I will always love you.”

“Then let me mark you as mine,” Will answered. It wasn’t what Matthew was hoping for in response but it was better than nothing at all.

“My body is all yours to do with as you please.” Matthew’s green eyes were so besotted with love that Will had to look away.

Will took Matthew’s left hand, and kissed the back of it. “‘Til death do us part.” Will whispered, taking Matthew’s ring finger, and biting down into the flesh as hard as he could. The pain radiated up his arm, Matthew flinched but didn’t move away.

“Now do the same to me,” He spoke, presenting Matthew with his left hand.

“Only if you promise me that you would never hurt yourself again.”

“I promise.”

Matthew hesitated for a moment but took Will’s ring finger, and created a matching pair.

After bandaging their wounds, and cleaning up the bathroom, Matthew slipped into the bed beside Will who was sleeping more peacefully than he had ever seen before. Matthew didn’t know if this meant they were friends, lovers or whatever the hell Will had in mind when he scarred them but he didn’t care. It meant Will was still here, with him — alive. Matthew held Will closer, putting a hand to the sleeping man’s heart, grateful he could still feel it beating.

[brawlina]

I probably should have done this earlier in the day. Its 12 AM and Im sure theres some characters that I should have considered, but heres the Cut for now:

Notes:

Picking characters based on their unique mechanics was really hard. Almost everyone had something unique about them and choosing which mechanic was 'the best' was tricky. I ended up picking some of these guys based on their overall strength in the meta. (At least from when I last checked)

I ended up saving Tick and Emz because one could argue that the previous Trophy Road brawlers are just as iconic as the original 15. It was only two so I decided to add them in. (But these are some of the ones Im okay with removing later one (even if I main both of them))

Ruffs, Bibi, Jacky, and Tara have appeared in leaks for Squad Busters. As I said before, if youre being considered for the actual Crossover Game, there must be something important to you.

Rosa is there because of merch. I have seen keychains of her. But shes on thin ice as well.

Saw a video once of someone cutting the Brawl Stars roster in half ala Smash Bros Reboot. There's 80 characters now, so cutting it to 40 makes some amount of sense. I decided to take a crack at it myself. Heres what I have so far:

So far theres 27 whos getting saved. I still need to figure out the rest of the 40 before I dump the rest in cut. What do you guys think?

For the ones thats not too obvious:

Piper - Stars in Brawl Star's most popular video

Edgar & Leon - OP Assassins who caused problems

Stu & Buzz - Bad Randoms Band

Bea, Max, Pam, Penny - Squad Busters Characters (If they're in Supercell's crossover game that means they have something noteworthy about them)

[oceanoecielo]

//y’know.

[silencervalkyrie]

Read the original in Catalan here. 

Many thanks to @paracadet for checking and correcting the translation!

Barcelona-Sitges-Barcelona, with Buster Keaton, Luis Alonso and Norma and Natalie Talmadge

[3-IX-1930]

The first photographs of Buster Keaton, Luis Alonso (1) and Norma and Natalie Talmadge, taken in Santander, in Granada, Madrid, etc, moved us all. With such a special and fantastic emotion that only movie stars provoke: wonder. Shadows in the distance approach. The figures of light from l'écran, the shining marionettes from black and white, are among us in the flesh. This flesh from the movie stars who seem to flash in and out of existence, as if they were nothing more than an illusion of images.

And here relies precisely the key to their success: their immateriality, their unreal and intangible quality.

The distance and the unnaturalizing photography of cinema and of the réclame have turned them into mythical and impossible beings, loaded with all the advantages of admiration, without any of the disadvantages of humanity.

✼ ✼ ✼

To round off the atmosphere of expectation and shock that the approach of the "luminous shadows" of the cinema generates, our stars (the Talmadges, Keaton and Alonso) have passed through our country in an exceptional way. This has not allowed us to forget the prodigiousness of cinema. All of them locked inside of a blue 90 HP Rolls, fast, restless and improvised, without any planning, fixed route or time. From one place to another, capriciously, using the freedom that the vacation time at the Studios allowed them.

This disorientation made it unlikely that we would be able to meet them in Barcelona. And it was even more unclear if they were in the mood.

✼ ✼ ✼

Nevertheless, they arrived at the Ritz on Friday night at 11 p.m. Tired and tanned.

And we greeted all four of them in the hotel lobby on Saturday at noon.

Norma Talmadge, whose beauty stays the same outside the celluloid, is so naturally beautiful, "young" and elegant as she is in her best pictures.

Her sister Natalie, Keaton's wife, is very thin and most sympathetic.

Buster Keaton, red as hell due to the sun of the fifteen-day road trip through Spain, has such a simple face that touches your heart, but the effect doesn't last. Because Buster Keaton is an authentic comedian, a true artist at all times. And he demonstrates this by explaining to us his hunting adventures in Andalusia:

"There are so many partridges that you can kill them with the blow of a cane. Bam! And into your bag."

With a priceless mimicry, we find him in the garden grabbing one of the ice cubs from the hotel ice buckets and taking a bite and eating a finger and all (his cut off index finger, so the trick turned out splendid).

Luis Alonso is a magnificent young lad. With all that romantic hair from “The Love Mart” and those superb looks which only seemed possible for the beautiful incredibility of cinema. Good fellow, modest and kind, astonishing. In a way you wouldn't believe he is a cinema star.

We take photographs of them non-stop and make them a little dizzy. Buster Keaton is sweating like a pig. And the ladies embrace the heat as a compliment from the "burning Spain".

"Spain is very hot!" but they are suffocating.

"Shall we go to the beach?" says Alonso.

"Very good!" cries out Keaton.

"To Sitges," we propose.

✼ ✼ ✼

In the first place we pass by an establishment to look for bathing suits. These are given as a gift, naturally.

At the door of the shop a crowd of people would give him the shirt he is wearing. The fact that Norma Talmadge, Buster Keaton and Luis Alonso are just a few steps away from them and in the flesh makes people turn their heads. Especially children. Children can't believe they are in front of "Pamplinas"(2).

"El comparsa! El comparsa!" they yelled.

One hour later we're at the “Vila Blanca". It's a very sunny day. The sea seems like a cradle.

Luis Alonso and Buster Keaton go swimming. The ladies are too tired.

"How do you like Catalonia?" we ask while they rest under the shade of an awning.

"A beauty. It is brighter here than anywhere else we have been."

"What do you like the most from what you've seen in Spain?"

"Everything. Everything. But Granada...Oh, Granada! Unforgettable. As well as Barcelona. It's a shame we cannot see more of it. We have so little time! Tomorrow morning at 8 o'clock we're setting off to Paris.”

While we have lunch, Keaton gives us his opinion regarding the talkies.

"Admirable. You see, I can sing alright. You'll hear... the rain fall."

"What are the actors you like the most?"

"Greta Garbo and Lon Chaney."

"Unfortunately," said Alonso, "we have been informed of his death with great regret. He was an intimate friend of Buster. And ours."

"Of all the films you've done, which one do you like the most?"

"Three Ages," said Keaton.

And Alonso and Norma:

"We say ''Camille".

✼ ✼ ✼

We've done what we could to catch Buster Keaton laughing. Impossible. As soon as a camera is pointing at him he looks like someone threw a bucket of ice water over him.

"A smile for me, Mr. Keaton," I ask him, making use of my qualities of a young lady.

Buster Keaton becomes more serious than ever.

"No! No! Laughing is forbidden."

A couple of steps away, the relentless "Metro" keeps an eye on him with his business contract in his hands.

"Laughing is forbidden."

In other words: it is forbidden to forget that Buster Keaton is "the man who doesn't laugh".

✼ ✼ ✼

It seemed as though half of the town of Sitges was around our table.

Alonso takes a child in his arms and caresses him.

"What's your name, maco?(3)"

The child cries in reply and the family scolds him, bewildered.

"Take good care of this boy, ma'am," shout some boys at the fortunate mother.

"This child sure is at risk of kidnapping!"

Then the signing begins. Albums, books of verse, notebooks, lottery tickets. Everything. Buster Keaton, Luis Alonso and Norma and Natalie Talmadge cannot keep up with all of their eight hands at the same time.

That's why the owner of the hotel doesn't let Luis Alonso escape, for he is the one who is paying.

✼ ✼ ✼

We flee.

The coasts of Garraf are a labyrinth of light at this hour. A labyrinth in which we wouldn't mind getting lost.

But we soon find ourselves in the Diagonal, and in the twinkling of an eye we're at the Ritz again. Our guests want to take a nap. Buster Keaton lets us know he's exhausted from driving so much.

We let them. And we say goodbye.

"Goodbye!" say the ladies.

"Goodbye," says Alonso.

Keaton asks us how to say goodbye in Catalan.

"Adéu," we say.

"Then...adéu," he says with a laugh. A charming, full of grace and optimism laugh.

A laugh that won't appear in any photograph or film.

(1) Gilbert Roland, born Luis Antonio Dámaso de Alonso.

(2) “Pamplinas” is the nickname of Buster Keaton in Spain. “El comparsa” is the title under which the film “Spite Marriage” was released in Spain.

(3) maco is a very common affectionate term in Catalan.

Polo, I., Santa-Maria Glòria, & Tur, P. (2003). La fascinació Del Periodisme: Cròniques, 1930-1936. Quaderns Crema, pp. 44-49.

[princessphilly]

Word Count: 1975 (you know I start small then build up)

Tag list: @newlibrary , @luvsherleafs @spine-buster , @m00nlightdelights @lovethepreds @myhockeyworld87 @Defiant-mouse, @callllumhood @yzas-stuff , @stars-canucks @laurenairay @cutiesara23, @besthockeyfics @hockeyallthetime @tazerass , @markymarkstrom @letsgobaby, @himbos-on-ice @hockeywocs @bloodthedevil @nhlboyshavemyhart88 @whatishockey @dreamer1430 @shelbsatans

CW: people failing to be mean, some angst. We are still rated pg-13 but we will be hitting NC-17 soon.

Add me to the tag list!

It’s okay to admit that you are enough. It’s also okay to struggle with admitting that to yourself. At least, that’s what I learned when Meghan Markle still had her old blog, The Tig, up online before she became the Duchess of Sussex. Honestly, she’s one of my goals; her father is a trip and she’s managed to live well despite his issues. I’d like to be able to do whatever she did with my mom. - journal 9/2

**

“The man over there says thanks.”

Jamila looked at the waiter, confused. “Um, okay,” she questioned as she looked where the waiter was discreetly pointing. A tall, brown haired guy raised a whiskey neat in salute. Jamila gave him a tentative grin. After the waiter left, she hissed, “I didn’t send him a drink, Lisa! What the hell?”

Jamila had to admit he was attractive but not her usual type. Her type was the outdoorsy type, the kind who could fish, hunt, and actually be able to live off the land if society collapsed overnight. This guy… he looked like money and power, the kind to hire someone to take care of him.

After a moment, it became obvious what happened as Alyssa and Frances came back over. Jamila put on her best movie-star fake smile as those two came by. They were the worst kind of people; backstabbers who even when they got caught, still got away with it because they knew how to suck up to the people in power. Jamila knew exactly why they didn’t like her: she had enough fame left over that she didn’t need to be their friend to earn a good reputation in their phD program.

“Meet any nice guys,” Frances asked with a sly smirk on her face.

Jamila gave Lisa a sideways look as Alyssa said, “I mean, there’s Jonathan Toews, he’s single. I bet he’d be interested in a washed-up actress.”

“Hmmm, I have no idea who you are talking about,” Jamila honestly said.

Alyssa smirked as she replied, “He plays for the Blackhawks, Meena.”

Jamila grit her teeth as Alyssa used her first name. She hated when people used her first name, it brought up too many bad memories. Before she could reply, the attractive brown-haired guy was standing next to her with a faint grin on his face. “Um, hi,” Jamila said as Lisa, Alyssa, and Frances stared at him.

“I figured I’d say hi after you sent me that drink. I would have bought you one but I don’t know what you’re drinking and it wouldn’t be nice to assume. My name is Jonathan,” he said with a flirtatious wink.

Jamila hesitantly replied, “My name is Jamila and I’m just drinking merlot tonight.”

“Another glass,” Jonathan asked, his deep voice doing things to Jamila’s insides. She bit her lip as she looked at him, trying to decide if she wanted to encourage him or not.

“Sure.”

As he found a waiter, Jamila looked at Lisa. Lisa motioned to her phone and Jamila checked her screen. That’s jonathan toews, the guy those bitches were talking about. He plays hockey and is the captain of the blackhawks

Jamila texted back, what is hockey n y should i care

Then the waiter came with a fresh glass of merlot and Jonathan passed it to her. Jamila took a deep sip, loving the taste. Merlot was truly her favorite and they had a good house vintage. Jonathan asked, “Are you new to Chicago?”

“I’ve been here for a year. It’s alright,” Jamila replied. “This is my first time going out on the North Side though.”

Jonathan gave Jamila a slow smile and her breath caught. He definitely was attractive but not her usual type. He said, “Then that’s why we’ve never met til now. I would have definitely remembered such a beautiful woman if I saw you before.”

Jamila giggled. “That’s a good one. You get one point for that.”

“Just one point? Is it an assist or a goal?”

“Um,” Jamila stalled. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

The sly smile on Jonathan’s face turned into a wide smile. This girl was not only hot but he could tell that she was truly clueless about hockey. Tonight was a win-win for him. “I’m going to assume it’s a goal then.”

“Okay.” Jamila shrugged as she took another sip of her wine. “I’m still not completely impressed so you still need to work on it.”

Jonathan laughed, causing some people to turn towards them. Jamila caught Alyssa and Frances giving her the evil eye and she smirked. Reaching out a hand, she touched Jonathan’s upper arm. Jamila had no idea what hockey was but whatever it was, he definitely was built. Jamila turned slightly as she rubbed his arm, making sure that those two bitches could see that she was touching him.

“You like what you feel,” Jonathan asked, his voice slightly deeper with a sultry tone.

Unable to resist the bait, Jamila replied, “Of course,” licking her lips. There was no problem in flirting with him, she thought to herself as he smirked at her.

Jonathan’s eyes were on her lips. She had full lips, made for kissing. Jamila wasn’t his usual type but Jonathan didn’t have a problem with that. “There’s more that you can-,” he started before someone bellowed, “TAZER!”

Jamila whipped around towards the sound, annoyed to have been interrupted before her attention was caught by the kind of guy of her dreams. He was tall, auburn haired, and looked like a lumberjack. He was perfection and he came over to them.

“Duncs,” Jonathan called.

The lumberjack said, “Heyy Tazer.”

Jamila smiled. Maybe this whole drink mix-up thing was working out for her, she thought until she saw her LA friend, Shan, come up behind this Duncs guy. Shan’s brother Alex was with them, his ever present backwards cap covering his hair.

Jonathan loved Duncs as a brother but right now, he was annoyed and pissed. He had been close to sealing the deal but Jamila was now looking at Duncs like he was the last man on earth. Then Jamila gave him a brilliant smile and Jonathan suddenly realized that he was totally fucked.

“Hi,” Jamila purred, forgetting that her hand was still on Jonathan’s bicep. Duncan looked at that and raised an eyebrow at his captain. Jonathan gave him a glare and Duncan made a motion with his hands.

Before Duncan could reply, Shan yelled, “Jamillllaaa!! Long time no see!”

“Hi Shan,” Jamila drily replied, glad she used her preferred name instead of her first name. Shan was a fellow child actress, a Canadian who managed to get supporting roles at Disney over the years before transitioning to a character actress when she became an adult. Shan was the only one whose parents were actually on-set all of the time and paid attention to what was going on. Consequently, Shan was the only one who didn’t have substance abuse problems, etc. and the only one from her former shows that Jamila kept in contact with.

Jonathan looked at Shan and Jamila. “You two know each other?”

Shan drunkenly giggled as Alex closed his eyes. “We were both Disney kids back in the day.”

Jamila sardonically smiled. “Those were fun days.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex replied. “Shan’s got a role in one of the next Marvel movies so she decided to celebrate.”

“Congratulations,” Jamila sincerely stated. Getting a role in the MCU was a steady check and something to celebrate. Then Jonathan took a double take and looked at her and Jamila groaned. He bit one of his thin lips and then he smirked before putting a finger to his mouth. Jamila exhaled and gave him her biggest smile. He recognized her but he didn’t say anything. Jamila leaned over and whispered into Jonathan’s ear, “You just got a second point.”

“Then maybe you should let me have your number,” Jonathan purred into Jamila’s ear.

Jamila smirked, rolling her eyes but before she could respond, Shan slurred, “Wow, Jamila, you waste no time. You were just telling me yesterday that you didn’t know a damn thing about hockey and tonight, you’re talking with Captain Serious.”

Jonathan wanted to shake his teammate’s sister because Jamila shut down, pursing her lips.

Oblivious, Shan continued, “Now, you don’t have an excuse not to go with my brother to the bowling thing.”

Alex face-palmed as Jamila pinched the bridge of her nose. She had totally forgotten about that and of course, when Shan was drunk, she was loud and obnoxious.

Pasting her best fake smile on her face, Jamila said, “I think it’s time for me to go.”

“So soon,” Duncan teased.

Jamila smirked at him, looking him up and down. “I need my beauty rest and to not strangle my friend.”

Jonathan gritted his teeth as he watched Jamila eye his friend. Then she turned to him and blew him a kiss. “It was nice to meet you, Jonathan,” Jamila said, giving him a wink.

Jonathan smiled back and Jamila was taken aback for a moment. There was a promise in those dark brown eyes and she felt her body begin to respond. Then he licked his lips and for a moment, all Jamila could think about was maybe those lips on her body. Slightly shaking her head, Jamila waved her fingers before going to call an Uber. This was a night.

**

After getting home, Jamila tossed her bag onto her front table. She suddenly felt exhausted even though it was barely after 11:30pm. Walking into her living room, Jamila saw her other cell phone glowing. Picking it up, she cursed. There were fifteen messages and ten missed calls, all from Janine. The messages started off nice, asking how Jamila was doing to nasty, calling her all kinds of names for not picking up and giving her “mother” money.

Tossing the phone back onto the table, Jamila sighed. Getting a separate cell phone just for her mother’s calls was the best but it was draining just to look at it.

Janine Brown was a bit actress, stage-mother, and now two-bit manager. Janine had always wanted to be an actress, even when she was attending grad school at MIT for physics. There, she met Jayesh Vyas, a student earning a PhD in computer engineering. Within six months, they were married and expecting a child; after two years, they were divorced after pressure from Jayesh’s parents. Jayesh returned to India and Janine was stuck with an 11 month old baby with dimples made of gold.

By the time that Jamila could remember, she was in front of a camera. Her life as a child was in front of a camera; first as the adorable adopted child in Granger vs Granger, then the youngest kid in The Elliot Show as a young child. Then from age 12 to 17, Jamila starred as Jane Lee in the Disney show, Plain Jane. School was on set. Birthdays were celebrated on set. Everything revolved around a set year round until right after Jamila’s 17th birthday.

The aftermath of that birthday was a stay in rehab, a cancelled show, and living with her dad and stepmom full time in Atlanta.

Jamila promptly deleted all the messages and voicemails before going on online banking. After authorizing a transfer to Janine’s account, Jamila showered, put on pajamas, and grabbed her pink Lepidolite and pink quartz crystals. Sitting cross legged, Jamila worked to calm her anxiety so that she could have a restful night sleep.

But in her dreams, she tried to focus on a pair of blue eyes and a lumberjack look. However, she kept dreaming of a pair of deep obsidian brown eyes, a crooked smile, and a deep voice telling her everything he was going to do to her

[fxulplay]

(   TALENTBLOOMED   )   WROTE   :

“Here,” He pushes a birthday cupcake into his twin’s hands. “For eating your bread.”

❝      You think a cupcake can make up for what you’ve done ?      ❞

It was an INSULT .   A tawdry attempt to absolve himself .   A mere cupcake could never hope to hold a candle next to milk bread .

❝      Well , I suppose I can accept it   . . .   this time , but you’re on thin ice , buster .      ❞

[angel-archivist]

Imagine DNIs being used as like a grading system like, ah yes i see you met 2 out of the 10 DNI criteria thats still an 80% pass rate so ig i can excuse enjoying homestuck and having sent anon hate but only because you very politely asked me about your incredibly specific situation, but you’re on thin ice buster

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 32

When Buster walked into Nelly’s apartment building, she was on the phone in the hallway. She turned her head at the sound of the door and said, “Oh!” He walked to her and tapped the thin brown paper box in his hands, drawing her attention to it. Inside was a big fat chocolate cake. 

“No, it’s just Joseph,” she said to the person on the other  line. He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I ought to get going now … Yes I’ll write soon … No, I haven’t yet. Yes, I will. I love you too. Goodbye.” She hung up the phone and turned to him with perplexity written across her face. 

“Happy birthday,” he said. “Who’s Joseph?”

“Hush. Get inside before someone catches you standing there.”

Beneath the box was the Paul Whiteman Orchestra’s most recent record, “You Took Advantage of Me,” the one they’d performed during his first dance with Nelly last night, and inside the sleeve a photograph he almost hadn’t developed. He set both box and record on Nelly’s broken dining table, making a mental note to get her a new one one of these days. “How’s the birthday girl?” He turned back to her. 

“Oh, just fine,” she said with a smile, although it looked a little strained to him. Her eyes were tired, a milder echo of the hangover he knew was also written across his face. 

“Not very convincing,” he said, putting two fingers under her chin and tilting it. Her soft lips pulled his thoughts in a different direction, and her bedroom was west on the route. “Shouldn’t have kept you out so late or letcha drink so much.” He stroked her cheek and looked into her eyes. 

She smiled again. This time, there was no question it was forced. His stomach did a mild flip as he recalled their liaison at the Villa a week ago in which he hadn’t used a thin. Maybe she was feeling sick because— He dismissed the thought. It was too early for that. While he wasn’t an expert on the finer points of the birds and the bees always, he was sure things didn’t go that fast. He cupped his hands over her shoulders and gave a little squeeze. “Say, what’s the matter? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were sad it’s your birthday.”

She shook her head and shrugged. “I’m always sad on my birthday. When I was a girl, it was because I thought it never lasted long enough. I wanted a whole week of birthday. Now that I’m grown up, time goes too fast. I always wonder what I’ve got to show for all those years. Not much.”

“Aw, c’mon. You got plenty. Steamboat opens tonight and you’ve got that Barrymore picture too. And your play,” he said. 

She smiled weakly again. “I suppose. Lately I have this feeling that everything I ever try just sort of drains out of my fingers, like water. Maybe it’s just middle age talking.”

“Oh, that’s all bull and you know it.” He kissed her forehead. He didn’t tell her he knew exactly how she felt, his marriage and career in pictures like water through his fingers. Instead, he just said, “You ain’t middle-aged, either.”

“Look where you were when you were twenty-seven, though. You were on top of the world. You were—” She stopped and thought, brow furrowed. “Help me out,” she said with a laugh, when nothing apparently came to her. 

He did some quick math. His twenty-seventh year would have spanned 1922 and 1923. Day Dreams, The Balloonatic, and The Love Nest all came out around then. It had all been films in those glorious years, barely a moment’s rest between shooting and cutting. They did The Three Ages in ‘23 he was pretty sure, and they’d definitely done Our Hospitality. Jimmy was still very much a baby and Bobby went from a twinkle in his parents’ eyes to a person whose kicks could be felt through Natalie’s stomach by the time his papa’s twenty-eighth birthday came around in October. There’d been a house in there too, but he struggled to remember which one. 

“Doing my first full-length features,” he said, wandering over to the sofa and sitting on the arm. “That was the year we did Three Ages and Our Hospitality. Went to Oregon for parts of Hospitality. We built a real Stephenson’s rocket for it—that was the train. Back then they’d just hook a few coaches to an engine. Stagecoaches I mean.”

“Was that the one with your wife? And it was a little like The General?” said Nelly, sitting on the opposite arm of the sofa. 

“Well, not too much like The General,” he objected. “The story’s different. Much different. But yeah, Nate was the leading lady in that one and I grew my hair out for that one too.”

“You must love her very much,” she said politely, giving that same small sad smile. 

Understanding hit. He could guess why she’d seemed so sad when she left last night and why she was sad now. They were at a crossroads. Ambling along the path of their affair, he hadn’t seen it coming up this soon. He wasn’t sure he was ready for it. It meant deciding whether to change direction or keep walking along in the same one. Feeling his heart in his throat, he stood back up and went back to the table. He wanted a cigarette. “Aren’t you wondering what’s in the box?” 

“Is it cake?” she said. 

“Palazzo Bakery. You only get a piece if you guess the flavor though,” he said. He went to fetch a long knife and some plates from the kitchen as Nelly called, “Chocolate!”

He laughed. “Lucky guess.”

At the table, he cut a big slice for each of them. “You forgot the forks,” she said, as he handed her a plate. He set his own plate on the side table and lifted her slice of cake between his fingers and held it to her lips. She giggled and took a bite, getting chocolate icing all over her mouth.

“Guess I'll go get those forks,” he said, planting a big kiss on her chocolatey lips and licking the sweetness from his own as he went back to the kitchen for forks. 

Nelly gave a sigh of contentment when she set aside her empty plate. “I could almost go for another.”

“You oughta since it’s your birthday,” he said, taking his last bite. 

“Twenty pounds, remember?” she said. She had a straight face, but he could tell she was teasing. 

He set aside his plate and jumped on top of her, bouncing her back against the sofa cushions. “Okay, if you wanna bring that up again I’ll make you laugh the weight off.” He tickled her ribs as she squirmed and shrieked and tried to fight him off. He pinned her wrists by her hip with one hand and used the other to assault her underarms and waist. 

“Stop!” she said, laughing. “Uncle!”

As soon as he made the amateur mistake of letting go of her wrists, she turned on him, dancing her fingers over his stomach so fast he was caught off guard. He was laughing too hard to grab her hands. Then, as quick as the assault had happened, it was over and Nelly was pulling him on top of her in a heap. 

“Mmmmm,” she said, chuckling and rubbing her nose into his throat.

“Mmm?” he said. He tugged on a strand of hair that had come free of her chignon. 

“Mmm,” she said. She ran her hand through his hair and upset his hat, which she flung to the floor. 

The image of a crossroads floated through his mind again, unbidden. To drive it out, he put his hand under her dress and fiddled with the strap of her garter. She sighed as he unhooked the forward part of her stocking and slipped his hand around to the back of her thigh to undo the other. He did the next two clasps using two hands, and drew off the stockings slowly, appreciating the shape of her legs. She seldom shaved her legs and he liked the hair there, faint brown and baby-fine. For his next trick, he reached back under her skirt and slid a hand inside the leg of her knickers until he found her bare hip. She murmured. He wanted to take her mind off the crossroads too. He stroked her hip with his fingertips, teasing. Slowly, slowly, he slid his fingers into her pubic hair. The hangover that had been beating inside his head was forgotten as all his concentration went to one of his favorite pastimes. He trailed his fingers first over her mound, then down each of her outer lips. Nelly gave a quavering moan. He wouldn’t touch her where she wanted to be touched, though. He circled back to her mound and she pressed her hips forward to receive more of his touch. 

“It’s your birthday, you get to call the shots. What do you want?” he said. He drew two fingers down both her lips simultaneously and looked at her face, watched her mouth part. Her only answer was a soft, feminine moan that ratcheted up his own arousal. He withdrew his hand from her knickers and stretched his body on top of hers, making sure that she could feel his erection. 

“What do you want?” he asked again, pressing against her. 

“You,” she said, opening her eyes a slit. 

“Specifics?” he said. He wanted to do what would make her happiest. 

“Oh Bus, just fuck me. Please.”

She’d never, ever used that word before. It reduced him to a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse. He stood up to get rid of his pants and drawers, while Nelly pulled up the skirt of her dress and peeled down her white cotton knickers. He’d never put on a prophylactic so fast. 

“Don’t hold back,” she said, seeking out his eyes as he put a knee onto the sofa. “I want to be ravished.”

He took his prick in hand and guided the tip into her. He had to think of something else for the first few breaths. Eddie Sedgwick’s face came to mind and that worked. He slid all the way inside her, now not in immediate danger of coming but still not far out of peril. “Give me a minute,” he said, hands gripping her bare knees. He thought of unsexy, ordinary things: the side of bacon he’d had with breakfast, changing the tire of Jingles’ car with him, a new pair of rubber waders he’d bought for fishing. After a minute, he was able to get back down to business. He slid his hands over her thighs and began to make love to her in steady strokes, watching the way her brow creased and her nostrils flared. “This good?”

“Will you go faster?” she said, her hands encircling his wrists. She pulled him flush on top of her. 

He laid as flat as he could get, elbows on the sofa cushion and hands over the crown of Nelly’s head, and gave her all he was worth. 

“Oh yes. Yes, yes,” she said, the pitch of her voice rising. She sounded desperate. “Harder.”

No amount of contemplating Jingles’ tire could have held him back now. He bore down on her as fast and hard as he could go, and his orgasm came just as quick and hard, one of the best he could remember having. He was aware they were both shouting loud enough to alert every damned neighbor in the building, but he couldn’t help it. He stayed inside her until every residual pulse of pleasure was gone before he pulled out. His muscles went slack and he was surely crushing her, lying on her like he was, but she didn’t complain. He wasn’t aware of falling asleep. The slamming of another door in the apartment building woke him and he startled. He pulled himself to his elbows. “Shit. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Nelly, though, was also blinking awake. “What’s the time? You’ve got to get to the premiere,” she said. 

He looked at his wristwatch. They’d only been out ten minutes. “Oh, that’s still a few hours away.” It was only half past four, and the premiere wasn’t until nine. 

“How do you think it will go?” she said. 

He climbed off of her and went into the kitchen area to dispose of the prophylactic. “Keep thinking it’ll have to be a smash. I said it before, that ending’s second only to The General.”

Nelly disappeared into the bathroom, but didn’t close the door. “Hmm,” she said. He picked up his pants, pulled the handkerchief out of the pocket, and wiped himself off. He was dressed when she returned and smoking a cigarette on the sofa. 

“Hmm?” he prompted. 

She shrugged. “I think so too, but I don’t have the least bit of experience with audiences. Or critics.”

“Sure you do. Don’t your plays get reviewed?”

“Oh,” she said. “I never thought of comparing them to pictures. They’re so different, aren’t they? The critics were usually on the same page as us and the audience for the most part. The only one that got us panned was Processional.” She stopped to pick up her knickers and began to put them on.  “The director was in love with it. Mr. Zweigle. We knew from the get-go the audiences would hate it. It was very—what’s the word. Avant-garde? Abstract? Went whooshing straight over their heads and we ended the run early. It really didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me either. Maybe it would have played better in New York City. I don’t see what’s not to like about Steamboat, though.”

“My production man tried telling me the people whose folks had died in floods would cause trouble for me, that’s why we switched to the cyclone idea,” said Buster. “What I don’t understand is that more lives are lost each year to cyclones. I guess we might get panned there.”

“It will go fine. Everyone will love it,” Nelly said, sitting next to him. 

He put an arm around her shoulder, feeling comforted. “Why don’t you go put on the new record I got you?” he said. He’d remembered the extra birthday gift. 

She frowned. “You shouldn’t have gotten me another record. You got me a whole band last night.”

“Blah blah blah,” he said, waving her off. 

She glared at him in mock anger, but went to put the record on the phonograph that sat on top of her desk. She changed the needle and slid the record from its sleeve. The photograph slipped to the floor as he’d expected it would. He wanted to warn her about it before he left. “What’s this?” She picked it up and turned it over, and her face reddened. “I didn’t think you’d really develop that,” she said, laying it on the desk. 

“Just see you don’t leave it lying around for Bradmont or Mr. Hernandez or whoever to see,” he said. He’d never given a girl a naked photo of himself before and wasn’t in love with the notion, but he had so many wicked photos of her now it had seemed only fair to trade her one of him. 

“Bradford,” Nelly corrected. “I owe the night to him. He was very good to me.”

Buster still thought she’d been over-cautious bringing Bradford along but didn’t see the point in arguing it. “Who’s Joseph?” he said, since they were on the subject of names. 

She blushed as she placed the record into the phonograph. “You. I was trying to get Mother off the phone one day and told her I had a date, but it was the wrong thing to say because then she asked what his name was and said Joseph. It just came out. Now she thinks I’ve got a beau named Joseph.”

“Well you do. Strictly speaking, my name is Joseph.”

Nelly bit her lip, her back to him as she pulled out the arm of the record. The phonograph scratched and hissed to life. Horns and strings rang out. Next to the real Paul Whiteman Orchestra, the recording sounded subdued. 

“Charlie Chaplin said he’d see me this week,” Nelly said. “I told him I worked in the prop department at United Artists and he said he’d have to change that.”

He wondered why the change of subject. “That’s good. Ain’t it?” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the music. Charlie had the habit of promising things he had no intention of giving, but he wasn’t going to set her straight. 

“I suppose. Shouldn’t I feel more thrilled?” She came and sat on the sofa next to him. 

He stubbed his cigarette into the cracked saucer she kept on the side table for him. “Should you?”

“My heart isn’t in Twelfth Night either,” she said fretfully. “At first I thought it was because I didn’t get Viola. You know, because I’ve done Maria before and I don’t have to work so hard to learn the lines. It’s not much of a challenge. Then I thought, I work so much maybe I’m just too tired to do a play right now.”

He noticed her picking the skin around one of her fingers. “What are you saying?”

“Let’s just dance,” she said, grasping his hand. 

He stood up and put both hands on her waist. From the phonograph, the singer with the funny name crooned, I’m a sentimental sap that’s all, what’s the use in trying not to fall?

His hangover was placated that evening by two glasses of whiskey before the premiere, which reunited three-fourths of the guest list from his party the night before, Chaplin, Lloyd, Fairbanks, Pickford, and so forth.  From their faces, Buster could tell they felt about as wrung-out as he did. Only Natalie didn’t seem hungover, although it hardly mattered. She was so sulky he began to wonder if Nelly’s mood was catching. 

With the theater favorably packed with his friends and fellow actors, Steamboat was guaranteed to be a smash hit. That said, Buster could tell fake laughter from real belly laughs. Steamboat’s reception was real. The men in particular found the cycle sequence howlingly funny. The scene with the house drew a collective gasp that satisfied him to his core. Natalie laughed little. He couldn’t figure it out, but was determined not to let her sulkiness get under his skin and basked in everyone’s praise afterwards. There were shoulder claps and back pats galore. Finally he was back to delivering hits again and could go to Irv and tell him to sack the army of writers. It was that thought he slept on that evening. 

When he woke up the next morning, the hangover had disappeared and he felt more cheerful than he had in days. He whistled “Daisy Bell” as he dressed. It wasn’t until he’d gotten downstairs that he sensed danger. Natalie was waiting for him in the breakfast room but there was no breakfast on the table. She’d been crying. Her eyes were puffy and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. 

“What’s this about?” he said. 

Her voice trembled. “We need to talk.”

The four worst words a woman could say to a man. “Okay,” he said, putting his hand on the back of a chair and preparing to sit down. 

“I don’t want the help hearing.” She stood up. 

He caught her elbow as she came around the table. The crook of her small arm was hot and moist. Dread had replaced hunger in his stomach. They headed for the living room. When he stepped into it and saw Constance and Norma sitting on the sofa with tight, cold expressions, he knew right away what it was about. Constance stood and took Nate from him. Natalie was tucked between her sisters like a chick between mother hens. Buster sat in the armchair diagonal to them, feeling out of his body. 

“How’d you find out?” he said. Outwardly, he was calm. Inwardly, his pulse was hammering.

Constance curled a protective arm around Natalie as Natalie dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. 

“It’s been going around a couple weeks, that you’ve had a girl at your bungalow,” said Norma. She twisted a handkerchief between her fingers, but was not crying and did not look as though she planned to.

He tried to remember who knew. Caruthers didn’t count; he’d been entrusted with more sordid details than the affair with Nelly. Louise Brooks and George Marshall knew. From what Nelly had said, Eddie Sedgwick. It must have gotten out through Eddie. He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and extracted one, concentrating on every detail. It gave him the excuse not to look the Talmadges in the faces for a few moments. 

“Norma said you wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring her to the party,” Constance said, voice full of scorn. “I said you would.” Her eyes blazed. “I was right.”

Nestled between her sisters, Natalie sniffled. Even if there had been rumors, he didn’t know how they’d connected him to Nelly specifically. As if anticipating this question, Norma said, “Dutch followed you when you left the party last night.”

“That girl?” Buster said. “No. She’s got a boyfriend.” He didn’t think the lie would get him anywhere, it just came out before he could stop it. 

Constance laughed. “That preposterous boy she was with? You could tell from a mile away he doesn’t favor girls.”

He lit the cigarette. He’d forgotten he was holding it. As he took the first drag, he started to formulate a strategy. He would willingly accept whatever punishment they meted out and from now on be more careful with Nelly: no parties, no more overnights at the bungalow, no more being gone for stretches longer than two hours. He avoided looking at Natalie. That chewing guilt was working at him again and he didn’t want to fall into that endless circle of trying to figure out where their marriage had gone wrong. It was her fault things were this way. No, his. No, hers. No, his.

He looked at his sisters-in-law. “So?”

“You know the rules, Bus,” Norma said gently. She looked sad. 

He hated the feeling that he was letting her and Dutch down as much as Natalie. He tried not to show it. Blowing out a cloud of smoke, he said, “So I got a little careless. I’ll keep it under wraps from now on.”

Norma shook her head. “You got attached.” When Nate had decided on separate bedrooms and he’d gone to Peg to declare to her that he intended to have his needs satisfied come hell or high water, she had agreed—with the smallest of conditions: keep it discreet, don’t get attached, don’t spend any money.

“Even if I do care for her a little, so what?” he said. “I’ve hardly spent a dime on her. She don’t want that. Told me from the beginning no satin and pearls.” It felt strange to bring Nelly out in open conversation after hiding her for so long.

“You don’t understand,” said Constance. Her eyes sparked. 

He looked at Natalie, wedged under Norma and Dutch’s shoulders. He wanted to  see how she felt about all of this. She refused to meet his eyes, though, only looked down and wiped at her eyes with her handkerchief. 

He scoffed. “Understand what? I get it, it’s an interrogation. I’ve done a lowdown, mean thing to my wife. You want me to apologize and make amends. Well I’m sorry.” As soon as he said it, he was sure he wasn’t. He was only sorry he was careless and they’d caught him. “I have needs. You can’t expect me to go without. Don’t know why we keep going in circles about this.”

Constance reached behind her and flung several pieces of paper at him. Some landed on the coffee table and others on the floor.  His brain took a moment to catch up with his eyes. Nelly was staring at them all from the photographs, breasts fully bared, clearly sitting in the Keaton bathtub. In a solitary photo, there he was holding a towel in front of his prick, gazing at the girl behind the camera lens. His heartbeat trilled like a military drum. The last he’d seen those photos, they’d been in his bedside table drawer. He hadn’t bothered hiding them. He hated that his private, intimate moment with Nelly was now seared into the Talmadge girls’ minds. He felt like a scolded, whipped little boy. As with his parents when he was a tot, he knew that nothing he could say to them would convince them that he had a side too. So he didn’t say anything. He looked down at the photos, then up at them. He was grateful for the blank pan that came so easily.

Now Norma stood up and did a funny thing. She gathered all the photos, squared them like a stack of cards, and put them in the little leather handbag at her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said. She did really look sorry as her eyes searched his. “You know the rules. I made some calls this morning. She’s no longer working for United Artists.”

“Huh?”

“We had her fired,” said Constance. She looked smug and triumphant. 

Buster sat upright. “You did what?”

“She simply cannot work in pictures any longer. I’m sorry,” said Norma. 

“You’ve got no right to do that,” he said, voice rising. “She didn’t do none of this. It was all me. Why’s she getting all the blame?”

“That slut knew you were married,” Constance said. “She oughta have seen it coming.”

He stood up. The cigarette seared his fingers and he dropped it, shaking his hand. It had burnt down without him noticing. “Don’t you call her that word,” he said. “She ain’t like that.”

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em,” said Constance. The expression on her face dared him. 

“Buster, the cigarette,” said Norma.

He dared. “You’re the one who’s the slut,” he shot at Constance. “Buster, Jack, Michael, Ricky—want me to go on?”

Constance just smiled. “I’m not fooling around with married men. Nor am I married.”

“Pick up the cigarette, c’mon,” Norma said. “The carpet, you’re ruining the carpet.”

“Yeah? What about Norma? She’s married. She’s going outside her marriage.” He knew even before the protests were out of his mouth that they’d make no difference. The only thing that mattered to them was Natalie. As long as Natalie had been wronged, he could object until the cows came home. He picked up the smoldering butt and ground it out on the coffee table, daring them again.

“Sit down,” said Norma. Again, her voice was gentle. “I’m sorry, but Natalie comes first. You must tell this girl that it’s over.” “Nelly. Her name’s Nelly.” They must have known her name if they were able to find out where she worked, but it still felt fitting to say it out loud. This was a person they were talking about, not a chess piece to be moved off the board. 

“Please tell Nelly it’s over,” Norma said. She looked apologetic. 

Buster looked at Natalie. Her head was still down. He wanted to barter with her. Let me keep seeing her. What do you care anyway as long as you have your furs and your fancy parties? He looked at Constance who had a half-smirk on her face, like she knew something he didn’t. 

“If I don’t?” He could already tell by the look on Constance’s face that they had him checkmated. He just didn’t know how yet. 

“We’ll go to Mr. Mayer with the pictures. It’s as simple as that,” Norma said. She twisted the handkerchief. 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re kidding. You’d ruin my career over something like this?”

“It’s you who’s ruining it, not us,” said Constance.

“What would happen to Nate then, huh? What’d happen to this house? All the parties?” He refused to accept that they’d pull the pin over something so trivial. If there was one thing he was sure Natalie did like about him, it was his handsome paychecks. 

Between her sisters, Natalie began to cry audibly.

“We’ll take care of Natalie and the boys,” Constance said, with a dismissive wave. 

He considered it. They were both still successful in pictures. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. 

“Just tell her it’s over,” Norma encouraged. “We don’t want to go that far.”

He knew too, sure as he knew anything, that they’d make sure Nate got more than her fair share in a divorce. She’d get the house, the kids, and whatever alimony could be squeezed out of him after he was ruined. He felt frozen. Nelly would take him even down-and-out; her line about diamonds and satin wasn’t a bluff. He just didn’t know if he could live with himself knowing he had messed up her career and he couldn’t offer her a darned thing with his gone too. It was selfish, but he didn’t want to give up everything he’d worked so hard for either, the plum gig at M-G-M, the Villa, and most of all his boys. 

“Alright. I’ll tell her.”

Checkmate. King vanquished. Three queens crowned. Note: Well, you saw this coming, didn’t you? I feel I’ve been rather harsh to Natalie in this chapter, but remember, we’re only getting Buster’s perspective here since none of the story is written from Natalie’s POV. Who knows if Buster really felt so cynically toward Natalie either. I suspect not. He seems to have had a soft spot for her even after their divorce. She did like her material comforts, but as he says in his autobiography, so did he. I’ll probably go back to a biweekly posting schedule again, so look for Chapter 33 the weekend of the 18th.

[bingbong21]

Bingbong’s Ranking of Buster Bros

Based solely off how easily I can understand them in the drama track

1. Saburo: Perfect angel, 10/10, working with you has so far been a joy. Please continue to enunciate unlike your brothers.

2. Ichiro: I mean you’ve mostly just been giving one word answers so it’s not bad, but anytime you do speak at length is a bit much so you’re on thin ice. 

3. Jiro: *gestures at drama track* This right here? It’s why you’re my least favorite Buster Bro. 

[spiritedbirb]

dni if you affiliate yourself with the south in any way, have taken any drug in your life (prescribed or otherwise), Are under 21 or are over 24, if you have watched Dr. Phil in any capacity (staring at it in the hospital lobby for under ten seconds is okay but you’re on thin ice, buster) Chose bulbasaur as your starter pokemon, your birthday is on the seventh of any month, Jingles your bells, or does the hokey pokey without knowing what it’s all about!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[authorialarcanist]

Gracidea Blossom

Pokémon Diamond, Pearl, & Platinum X Little Busters!

Summary: Riki Naoe doesn't ask much from life; ever since his parents died, he only wants to stay with the friends who pulled him out of depression: Masato, Kengo, Kyousuke, and Rin. Kyousuke, however, has other plans: there's a beautiful world out there, and he wants Riki to see it. And so Riki and Rin set out on their own Pokémon journey through the wonders of the Sinnoh region, both natural and man-made. They will face challenges and meet new friends, and see all the awesome things the world of Pokémon has to offer. After all, even when it comes with tears, isn't that what life is about?

This story is being written with the assumption that a reader may not be familiar with Little Busters canon.

Rating: T

Pairings: None

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Mirror Links: AO3, Pokécommunity, Spacebattles

- Next Chapter

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Prologue: Kyousuke's Back

The wind howls, flinging torrents of sand every which way. A narrow path cuts through pockmarked cliffs of dark rock, winding up and down the sandy canyon floor. If a flying observer thought the storm was bad above ground level, they would realize how wrong they were upon diving between the walls; where the gale above split this way and that, sometimes blowing a flurry upwards to hang a moment in the air, here the canyon forms a channel for a river of air and sand to cut through like so many minuscule blades. Even the small oases of Route 228, normally offering respite from the desert’s harshness, find their trees struggling as the sandstorm strips leaves from their branches.

Two figures trudge through the sand, pushing forward even as the wind fights to deny them. The first, towering over its companion, is a bipedal dinosaur covered in bulky purple spikes. Its tail drags through the sand, leaving a trail behind it for only moments before the sandstorm covers it up.

Behind the Nidoking, relying on its bulk for cover from the storm, is a human wrapped up so tightly that not an inch of skin is visible. A damp cloth is wrapped around his nose and mouth, and heavy goggles cover his eyes. He pokes a gloved hand experimentally out from his Pokémon’s wind shadow, and snatches it back from the sudden force. He mutters to himself, voice confident though muffled by the cloth.

“This is definitely no ordinary storm.” Although Route 228 is known for its sandstorms, normally trainers can prepare for the weather and gather here as a training spot. The current winds, however, brook no argument in their rejection of any human foolish enough to trespass. Of course, that’s why he’s here; to get to the bottom of whatever’s been rendering the area uninhabitable. In front of him, his Pokémon lumbers to a stop; when he peeks around its side, he sees that a rock slide has blocked off the path. “Louis, down.” The Nidoking obediently crouches, allowing its trainer to clamber up onto its back. He pulls himself up by its spiked ridges.

That’s one advantage of the sandstorm, he muses. He doesn’t have to be as careful of his Pokémon’s poisonous spines when he’s already wearing gloves.

“Rock Climb!” He shouts the command to be heard over the wind, and holds on tight as Louis grabs onto a boulder above and begins the process of hauling itself up the obstruction. Its weight shifts back and forth as it climbs, and its passenger winces as his body occasionally swings out to catch a burst of stinging sand. Finally, the wind seems to let up a little as the Pokémon pulls itself to the top of the cliff and lets its trainer off. The two look down at the northern half of the route, and find it utterly buried in sand dunes. The northern oasis has totally vanished under heaps of sand, and as their gazes turn further north they find the source - a massive twister spewing sand from a wide pit near the route’s northern gate. The gate building itself, of course, is utterly sanded in (sanded in? Sandlogged? The trainer makes a mental note to check); it’s been unusable since the storm began. He pauses for a moment, considering. No, he’d better stick to his guns. ‘Sanded in’, it is.

Trainer and Pokémon trek on, staying atop the cliff with Louis bearing the brunt of the storm. It, at least, seems to enjoy the sandblasting. Finally they reach the nearest location to the source, a point where the cliff juts out in a wide overlook. Even with his Pokémon’s protection, the trainer can feel the twister tearing at his clothes, straining to pick him up and fling him away. He grimaces. This next part isn’t going to be fun.

He runs out from his Pokémon’s shelter to duck behind a pair of large, pitted boulders. For a moment he’s exposed to the full brunt of the sandstorm, and the damp cloth is ripped from his face, forcing him to cover it with one arm. He coughs in the dry air, but still manages to splutter out a command.

“Louis! Use Avalanche!” The Nidoking roars in reply, and stomps one huge leg with tremendous strength. A wave of ice spews forth from its mouth, and the cliff face gives way under the force, sending tonnes of ice and rock tumbling down into the twister’s heart. The sand sputters and pauses for a moment, and the trainer chooses then to dive out from his hiding spot and leap on top of the avalanche, desperately fighting to keep his balance as he plunges to the ground. As he nears his destination the tumbling rocks grow even more treacherous, and when an impact seems about to jar him off he leaps away, coming to a rolling stop in the sand some feet from ground zero. He sways to his feet, wincing. That probably would have given Riki a heart attack if he was here.

Still, he grins. He needs to work on the landing, but that was cool. He snaps back to earth as a tremor runs through the pile of rock and ice where the avalanche has finally stopped. Louis was far too heavy to make the same trip without being injured, so he’s going to have to play this suboptimally. That’s fine. The rocky tomb bursts apart, and an angry Pokémon emerges with a roar. It’s a huge hippo, taller than he is, with a leathery gray hide. Sand pours from holes on its darker snout and back, although thankfully it doesn’t seem capable of starting the twister back up immediately after his Nidoking’s painful attack. The Hippowdon - he hasn’t needed his Pokédex to recognize native Sinnoh species in a long time - glares at him, one eye red and the other a faded, milky blue. After a moment’s standoff, it leaps at him.

“Irwin! I choose you!” He flings a pokéball without missing a beat, and with a flash of red the Hippowdon find its charge interrupted by a vicious slashing claw. It backs away and examines this new opponent with its good eye. The claw attaches to a thin arm, sporting a pair of small spikes and a deep blue vestigial flipper. Red scales stretch up the newcomer’s belly and to its jaw, on a sharklike head flanked with two organs like jet engines. The snout is painted with yellow scales in the shape of a star. The Garchomp crouches, flicking its tail out behind it, and goes on the offensive. It’s unable to take full advantage of its speed in these narrow conditions, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still pack a punch.

At its trainer’s shouted “Dragon Claw,” the land-shark launches itself at the Hippowdon, slashing out with wicked claws. The hippo lumbers back, shifting to take only glancing blows until it finds an opening to lunge and latch onto the land-shark with its massive teeth. Its maw flashes white for a moment, and Irwin roars in pain as ice blooms where the Hippowdon’s teeth connect. It thrashes back and forth, trying to throw its opponent off, but the hippo is too heavy to budge.

“Wh—shit! That’s not a move Hippowdon can learn in the wild!” The trainer swears. Garchomp are incredibly vulnerable to the cold, and his Pokémon could be in danger if he doesn’t do something quickly. “Use Substitute! Get out of there!” Irwin glows bright white, and a moment later it’s slipping away as the Hippowdon munches on a glowing decoy. Back in the ball it goes, and — the trainer swears again, diving out of the way as the hippo barrels towards him, the substitute finally bursting beneath its legs. The rampaging Pokémon tries to stop as its target escapes it, but one of its back legs shudders as it tries to dig in, and it slams into a rock wall with a bellow. The trainer scrambles back to his feet, another Pokéball already flying from his hand. “It’s up to you, Maeda! Use Mach Punch!” A large ape, brown with a white torso and yellow swirls adorning its body, shoots like a bullet at the Hippowdon and beans it in the snout just as it turns around. The ape cartwheels out of the way of its opponent’s retaliation, flames billowing from its head in interesting patterns as it flips backwards. With another bellow, the Hippowdon gives chase.

“You’ve been competitively trained, that’s for sure.” The trainer narrows his eyes behind his goggles, watching as his Infernape keeps its opponent busy. “Why would a trainer abandon a Pokémon they’ve put this much investment into? And if they were going to just dump you off somewhere, then why go through the effort to make sure it’s in your natural habitat? Unless…” He watches as the Hippowdon works itself up into more and more of a rage, until it finally rears up onto its hind legs, preparing to slam down and trigger an earthquake to bury these irritants in one fell swoop. “Maeda, now!” The Infernape catches the hippo’s forelegs as it begins its descent, straining to push against the force. The Hippowdon roars, trying to crush its foe, but even as it pushes the ape back, its bad leg falters and gives in. Maeda gives one final push, and the Hippowdon slams down on its side. Dazed and weakened, it still tries to push itself to its feet.

The trainer approaches slowly, hands in front of him. “Your trainer felt responsible for getting you hurt, didn’t they? They thought staying here would be better for you. You were just trying to cause a disturbance so that they’d come back.” The Hippowdon’s roar sounds less angry, now, and more sad. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not your trainer. But… You can come with me, if you want to.” The hippo raises its head, its one red eye meeting the trainer’s gaze. Finally, it slumps to the ground, no longer struggling.

“I understand. And… I’m sorry.” The trainer pulls an Ultra Ball from a pocket of his coat, and with a press of the button on front it expands to full size. He palms the sturdy metal sphere, and with perfect form sends it sailing at the Hippowdon’s center mass. In a flash of red, the Pokémon vanishes, and the Ultra Ball falls to the ground. It doesn’t shake.

The trainer walks over and picks it up. Next to it is a strange rock, smooth but for translucent brown crystals jutting out at angles. “Was she holding this?” He murmurs to himself, and pockets the stone. May as well show it to the Professor, in case it had anything to do with the strength of the Hippowdon’s sandstorm.

“Now, then…” He looks around.

The pit is covered in rubble and sand. Finding where his Pokémon’s balls had flown after releasing them is going to be a hassle.

——

“…And that’s what happened.”

Sinnoh’s Resort Area could hardly be any more different from the harsh desert of Route 228. Nestled between lush forests on every side, the settlement is a study in blues and greens. Aside from a small Pokémon Center catering to trainers who came from the other Areas of the Battle Zone, the few buildings in the clearing gleam white in the sun, with rich vacationers lounging on lawn-chairs or swimming in pools beside them. Despite their luxury, all of these villas remain at one story in height; the only building to climb higher is the combination Ribbon Syndicate and Spa at the northern edge of town, a social hub for those staying in the area.

A young man lies on the cool grass next to a small pond. Around him are scattered several layers of protective clothing. The trainer finally pulls off his thick goggles and splashes some water on his face. Now that he’s no longer bundled up against the sandstorm, he’s wearing a black T-shirt with a light red dress shirt worn open over it. Auburn hair falls to the length of his nose, cut shorter just above each eye to keep it from blinding him. He straightens up and stretches before opening his eyes, refreshed. They’re a deep, intense red. This is Kyousuke Natsume, the Champion of the Sinnoh region’s Pokémon League.

“Route 228 is officially open for travel again, and I’ll be taking this Hippowdon with me. Who knows, maybe we’ll even find her trainer. How about you, Professor?”

His companion looks up from finishing a donut. “Hmm, yes. My research while waiting here was more than satisfactory.” This is an older man, sporting white hair and an impressive mustache. He’s wearing a brown coat over a blue vest. His face appears severe, but the effect is rather ruined when he licks frosting off of his fingers and smiles. “…And I must say, the amenities were quite fascinating as well!” This is Professor Rowan, the region’s foremost Pokémon Professor. “Anyhow, you really didn’t have to accompany me to Unova. Surely you’re eager to get back to your friends?”

Kyousuke nods. “I can’t say you’re wrong. Still, I did have business that was closer to Unova than Sinnoh.” He fingers a Pokéball on his belt, kept separate from those of his team and the recent acquisition. “And helping out on the way was the least I could do, with what I’m asking of you.”

“Nonsense, young man!” Rowan waves the comment off. “I’d never ask for compensation to help nurture another generation of Trainers. Getting to see youngsters set out and discover the world together with Pokémon would be reward enough, even if we weren’t talking about…” He trails off, shooting Kyousuke a sheepish look.

Kyousuke takes pity on him. “Of course. I shouldn’t have implied otherwise.”

“Err-hem. Speaking of which, here - now’s as good a time as any to hand them over.” Professor Rowan turns to the briefcase sitting on the grass beside him, and pulls out a slim black bag with something rectangular inside, along with two Pokéballs. Kyousuke takes them, inclining his head in thanks. “I must say, having your assistance was quite nice! If you’re ever looking for a job as a full-time lab assistant, my door is always open!”

“Well, I might be hunting for a job one day and have to take you up on that.” Kyousuke chuckles. “For now, though, Champion duties keep me more than busy enough.”

“Hah! Well, you can’t blame me for trying.” Rowan snaps his briefcase closed and takes one last wistful look at the large building overlooking the resort. “You know, the lady at the Syndicate said they’d be getting in Lava Cookies tomorrow. Ah well, I suppose time waits for no man…”

Kyousuke shakes his head. “I guess not. I wouldn’t want to miss our boat and have to Surf all the way.”

With some good-natured grumbling, the Professor picks up his briefcase, and the two set off.

——

The sun is setting over Mt. Coronet by the time Kyousuke finally makes it to Hearthome City. Stepping out of the gate building and onto the city’s patterned brick paths, he marvels at how, no matter how long he’s been away, Hearthome always seems to welcome him back. From the widely spaced brick houses and apartment buildings, flanked by bushes growing from cutouts in the streat, to the parents out with strollers, waving casually not at the Champion but at the leader of those kids who were always making a racket, the city emits a palpable sense of warmth. Kyousuke is looking forward to seeing his friends, but he stops at a bench to rest his feet and watch twilight play over the city. Streamers of orange light seem to sink into the bricks around him, and paint the city’s fountains with their glow. Above the mountain to the west, the sky fades from blue to orange to a quiet pink. The breeze is pleasantly cool, and Kyousuke’s eyes slowly drift closed.

When he opens them again, dusk has well and truly fallen. In lieu of the sun, street-lights have illuminated themselves, casting the city in a strange liminal tone. He checks his Pokétch, and sees the clock app mark the time as 10 PM. With a yawn, Kyousuke pushes himself to his feet; his friends shouldn’t be sleeping just yet, and he does want to see them tonight.

“Oh, if it isn’t Kyousuke!” A woman stops him before he can begin his search; he remembers her babysitting him and his sister when they were younger. “I see you’re back from your trip.”

He nods. “I would have been here yesterday, but they needed my help at the Battle Zone.”

“Ah, of course. A champion’s duty calls, eh? I don’t suppose you checked in on Rin and the others before deciding to take a nap?”

“Hmph.” Kyousuke chuckles. “What can I say? Our fair city’s beauty couldn’t be ignored.”

“Sure, sure. If you’re looking, I think they’ve been in Amity Square all day.”

“Much obliged.” With a casual wave, Kyousuke sets off in the direction of the park. He could have guessed; any time she wasn’t otherwise occupied, Rin could be found playing with the cat Pokémon who lived there. Riki would go wherever his friends did, and Masato and Kengo liked to keep an eye on them when he wasn’t around, so more often than not they could be found in the park whenever he returned from a long trip. He slips past the Pokémon Contest Hall, ignoring the colorful lights and boisterous sounds that can be heard from the dome, and finally the city’s ubiquitous brick gives way to grass as he approaches Amity Square’s entranceway.

Although the design is somewhat reminiscent of Sinnoh’s gate buildings, the entranceway is much more open, with open-air windows that only get covered in cases of inclement weather, and a cheery sign depicting a Drifloon, a Psyduck, and a Torchic hanging over it. He passes through with a nod to the attendant, and steps out into the park. Despite the dark sky the park is still illuminated by a smattering of street lamps; Amity Square is first and foremost a place for children to play with tame Pokémon, so safety is their first concern. It’s a shame that you can’t see the stars from here, but it’s worth it for the smiles the park brings to children and adults alike.

Catching a glimpse of one of his friends, Kyousuke cuts across a bridge to the manmade island in the center of the large pond that occupies pride of place in the square. Sat on a raised outcropping of rock next to the Bonsly that follows him everywhere, Riki Naoe is quietly gazing at the water. Although he’s only a year younger than Kyousuke, Riki is still more a boy than a man, with a slight build clad in a simple blue coat. He has brown hair and greyish-brown eyes, set in a soft face. Right now, however, those eyes seem to be looking someplace far away.

Even now, years after they first met, Kyousuke still catches Riki making that expression from time to time. He wishes he could drive the clouds from his friend’s face for good. He clears his throat, and raises his hand in a lazy wave. “Yo, Riki.”

Riki looks around, and his face lights up like the sun upon seeing Kyousuke.

“Kyousuke! Your trip is over? Oh, wait, I need to go get the others!” He turns and runs deeper into the park. “Hey! Masato! Kengo! Rin! Come on, Kyousuke’s back!”

Kyousuke watches fondly as his friends gather. One more day, he decides. They’ll spend one more day in Hearthome, playing together like nothing has changed. But after that…

He toys absentmindedly with the Pokéball he picked up in Unova, and meets the eyes of two of his friends as they approach. Masato and Kengo nod back, the message received.

It’s time.

Soon, Riki and Rin’s own journey will have to begin.

------

A brief note about spoilers: in this fic, some spoilers for Little Busters! will be inevitable. However, I'm going to leave a note at the start of any chapter where spoilers about a character's route pop up for the first time, so that people who haven't read the VN or watched the anime can still follow along and pause if they decide they want to see a character's original context before getting spoiled on anything. That said, even then I'm going to keep spoilers to backstory content only as best I can; I'm going to be leaving as much of the routes as possible to be the original work's domain and taking my own path with the characters, just as I'm hoping to do something original with Sinnoh rather than just retelling Pokémon Diamond and Pearl. Ultimately, my goal is for somebody who hasn't read Little Busters to be able to read this fic, and still go on to enjoy Little Busters afterwards and have things left to be surprised by.

[yankyo]

Who's Who - Part two

Should I try and change this fic because I dislike it? Probably? But! A few of my favorite people enjoy it as is so here's the full clone fic in all its original glory!

Warnings: you fuck a bunch of clones, overstimulation, anal, double penetration, mention of tentacle, dirty talk, ye

----

Unsurprisingly, Beetlejuice's reaction to seeing you blowing his clone had been an almost immediate boner, a fact that he was almost too gleeful to tell you until he saw the ice cold glare you sent him and he remembered just what a position he had managed to worm himself into. 

"C-come one babes, at least I made sure you had help! Wasn't that thoughtful?" He tried, raising his hands in mock surrender as you stormed up to him to tell him exactly what you thought of him ditching you. 

"Thoughtful? You pushed the mess you made and promised to help clean onto an innocent person!" You shouted back.

"But its clean right? And he obviously did a good job!" He gestured to Bee, who was currently putting himself back together with a guilty expression, as if he thought he would be yelled at too. Which, really, you weren't mad at him, it wasn't his fault your boyfriend was a dick. "I mean, I'm kinda shocked you even noticed." 

"Of course I noticed!" The looks both your boyfriend and the clone on the couch gave you in that moment was curious, mischievous, borderline identical. 

"Really? Do ya think you could pick me outta a line up?" Beetlejuice asked as Bee stood to stand by his side. Huh? What did he...? Before you could even ask, Beetlejuice snapped his fingers and five more clones appeared out of thin air. 

"Beetlejuice." Though the name made him flinch - usually you referred to him by his pet names to reduce the risk of accidentally sending him away, unless he did something to really deserve your ire - he tried to seem confident.  

 "Come on, doll, just seeing if you can put your money where your mouth is." His smile turned into a salacious leer, "that is, unless you're not up to the challenge?" ... damn him. You knew you could say no, hell, even just say his name twice more and send him packing, but... the way the clones were looking at you - and you couldn't deny you had been more than a little turned already thanks to Bee... 

"So the game is I pick you out from the line up? Too easy." The small group of Beetlejuices cackled in response, their eyes lighting up with unrestrained mischief as they swarmed you. You were gently shepherded back to the couch where you were made to sit on one's lap, the others all settled around you. Looking over the group, there were subtle differences here and there, one's ears were sharper, a few were taller, a few were not as soft, one grinning demon clearly had longer fangs than your personal ghoul did - but with how fast everything was moving you couldn't really scrutinize the whole group, especially not when you could already feel multiple sets of hands finding their way onto your body. Gentle nails ran up your thigh, a tight grip held your hips still, a hand on your ankle kept you from pulling your legs together, one grabbed your chin to pull you into a quick kiss and with that simple action all hell broke lose. 

"No fair sneaking the first kiss!" , "Hell, you wanna talk no fair, buster over there got his dick sucked already, he should sit out!" , "If I had been the one called to help, I woulda treated you so good doll, would've seen just how deep I can get my tongue in that sweet pussy." They were talking too quickly for you to be able to tell which one was saying what, even if they weren't tugging your clothing off with all the grace and gentleness of a gorilla on steroids. "You're never gonna want for anything, babycakes, we're gonna spoil you rotten." Sharp fangs sank into your neck, into your thigh, into your hip, the ravenous clones all clamoring for a taste and honestly? You were beginning to forget just why you had been angry in the first place, especially when you felt your legs being spread even wider so one could dive face first into your pussy. You didn't even try to cover the moan that worked it's way out of your throat as a long, squirming tongue wriggled it's way inside of you - not that you were moaning for long as you were yanked into a deep kiss moments later. Rough hands kneaded your breasts, sharp teeth grazed your nipples, hot mouths kissed practically every single inch of your skin, leaving so many bite marks and hickies there was no chance of hiding them tomorrow - you wondered if you hadn't just died and went to heaven at this point. 

"You look so good like this," one hissed in your ear, "but you're gonna look even better when we got you all spread out on our cocks." A slick tongue ran along the edge of your ear as he let out a gruff little groan, "can you handle all of us? What's your safe word again?" For a moment, everything stopped, the hands faltered, the demon at your cunt pulled back, eight sets of eyes all focused on you waiting for the answer.

"Brigadoon." You cried out, desperate to have them back. 

"That's right, doll, why's that again?" You were going to kill him. 

"Because nothing's a bigger boner killer than Brigadoon, now can you please fucking - " you couldn't even get the rest of your sentence out before they were on you again. This time, you felt yourself being moved, this time on your knees bent over the arm of the couch. A rough hand pulled your head up as a cock brushed across your lips - when had they undressed? 

"Real or Clone, doll?" One asked even as you opened your mouth. Peeking up at the demon before you, you looked for anything that could set him apart, even as you dutifully sucked on the offered cock. This version was already clinging to the couch, his nails digging into the dark as he held back the urge to go wild - you pulled back,

"Clone." You declared. On top of being more gentle, you could just barely see a delicate spatter of freckles across his cheeks. Unfortunately, the others were rather quick to guess just how you were able to tell. 

"That's cheating!", "The game will be over before it even starts if that's how you're gonna be guessing.", "I've got this, don't worry dollface, we're gonna make sure you play fair." You shivered at the husky growl in your ear even before your eyes were covered by a soft feeling fabric - you really hoped it wasn't his tie, that thing was rancid on a good day. "There we are, that'll make sure you play by the rules." What rules? If your mouth wasn't currently occupied, you might've snorted at his words or even asked that question - even if you knew there was no answer. Beetlejuice had no real intention of letting you win this game. You knew he just wanted to take your mind off of his transgression so that he could avoid punishment. And honestly, with the stressful week you had on top of his childish behavior, getting fucked into near unconsciousness sounded fan-fucking-tastic right about now, so instead of actually answering, you pressed forwards until you had swallowed the cock in front of you to the hilt and spread your legs wider in clear challenge. Beetlejuice never was one to resist a challenge. 

The 'game' continued with gusto, your legs spread wider so a body could crawl underneath you and toy with your breasts as he made you straddle him, one pressed sweet kisses along your back as slimy fingers worked their way into your ass - anal had been a thing you and Beetlejuice had been playing with, thankfully, but the cock grinding up into your clit didn't exactly hurt either - two more had taken your hands from their clenched position on the couch to lead them down to their straining erections - and honestly it was at this point that you had to stop and think about how you were genuinely having sex with multiples of your boyfriend and that each and every one of these hot, hard, pulsing cocks were just waiting to be inside of you and still there were three more just waiting for the others to get out of their way. It was almost too much. Yet you still found some part of you taking note of the little differences you could feel here and there - like the one beneath you had a scruffier beard that he took way too much pleasure in rubbing across your sensitive nipples if just to feel you jolt and whimper. Fucking sadist. The Beetlejuice currently nibbling on your shoulder had sharper teeth, hell you could feel those fangs delicately scraping down your skin and could only imagine what it would he like if he actually bit you. Thankfully, he was being gentle with you as he slowly but surely worked you open, his heavy cock rubbing against your thigh as he felt your anus clenching around his fingers. The one currently fucking your face wasn't as long as Bee, but was much more enthusiastic as he held your head in the perfect position to try and work his leaking dick as far down your throat as he could manage. Every so often, he would hold you still, the head of his cock dripping down your throat until the need for air was so great you thought you would burst. He was the first to cum, pulling back even as his cock was twitching to cum on your face. 

"You look so good, precious," , "hurry up and get out of the way, let someone else have their turn," , "we're going to fill you up, kitten," you whined at that nickname - just in time for the one at your pussy to finally have enough of teasing you and pulled you down fully onto his dick. "Give her a second, fuck, I can feel you squeezing around me, you're real wound up, aren't you, baby?" You moaned in response, unable to even try and say anything. It felt so good to finally have someone inside of you and the feeling was only heightened as the Beetlejuice behind you took hold of your hips to hold you steady as a surprisingly prehensile member slowly began working it's way inside of you. For a moment, the sensation of the cock you swore you could feel in your stomach and the one working it's way past your rim was all you could focus on - feeling completely, impossibly full. And once they were both completely seated both Beetlejuices leaned in to whisper in your ear. 

"I can feel you squeezing on me, does it feel that good, kitten?", "We're going to ruin you for anyone else. Come on, precious, say our name." In unison, they slowly withdrew before slamming back into you, forcing a sharp moan from your lips. Holy shit. They held absolutely no mercy once they saw you had grown accustomed to them, working together to make you see stars. When one withdrew, the other thrust forwards, making it so you were constantly full, the Beetlejuice beneath you dead set on grinding against your g-spot whilst the one behind you showed off just what his unique member could do as it writhed inside of you - twisting, undulating, rolling. 

"Holy shit, if I knew how much you'd like this, we woulda done this ages ago!" A hand stroked gently through your hair before someone guided you into a kiss, their tongue lapping away the cum drying on your cheeks. 

"Bee?" Your voice was weak, quickly cut off with a moan as someone pressed a thumb to your clit. Too much! You clung onto Bee, who cooed and caressed your cheeks, your body going tense with the orgasm ripping it's way through you before the two Beetlejuices currently fucking you decided that was the moment to kick things into hyperdrive and started fucking you even harder. "W-wait! I can't! It's too much!" Your protests fell on dead ears.

"Why does he get a special name?", "he's already had a turn, kick him out!", "I wanna name!", "I'm about to cum, kitten, gonna fill you up so good.", "that's it, precious, keep on squeezing us just like that,", "we've got you, sweetheart, just let go.", "Make her cum again, wanna make sure she's ready for me." They all spoke at the same time, but all you could focus on was Bee still giving you such gentle kisses as the other two clones used you like a ragdoll before they both slammed into you as deeply as they could and began to cum. 

You were boneless when they lifted you, unable to do anything but cling to the next warm body that took their place and moan as you were filled again. They fucked you fast, hard, making you cum again and again until you were whimpering from overstimulation. "Who's fucking you now?" Was a question you were made to answer again and again, but each time you found something to prove them to be a clone until the very last pair. Beetlejuice, your Beetlejuice, you were certain, gathered you up in his arms and set you on his lap. "We fucking decimated you, didn't we, babes? Come on, tell me, who's touching you now?" His cock teased your entrance, being so gentle as he knew just how raw you had to be. 

"Beetlejuice." You held no hesitation. Your reward was the blindfold being ripped from your face as your beloved ghoul grinned down at you. 

"How we doing, babes? Still got enough energy to handle me?" You snorted softly, leaning in to rest your head against his shoulder. God you would need a long rest after this, and a bath too, you could just feel the cum dripping down your thighs to pool onto his. 

"Fuck me up." You challenged, making him give you a grin. "You're still on my shit list." His grin grew ever wider. 

"Let's see if I can't change your mind." 

[theabcsofjustice]

nightfurylover31 replied to your photoset “OKAY YOU ARE PUTTING YOURSELF ON THIN ICE THERE BUSTER BROWN. KNOCK IT...”

Fans were so excited for Roa. Then he did this and we all wanted to punch his lights out. ):<

Damn skippy! No one gets to treat our Romin-chan like that! :(

[aptronyms]

i call it vrai and say both acronyms separately. like vr-ai all mushed up together

yknow what! sure as long as ur not saying just “vr” or “ai” then ill deal. but just know your ice is ESPECIALLY thin buster

[tokyoghoose]

sorry for the pain :) (not really sorry but pleasedonttakemyrightsawayily

Youre on thin ice buster 🔫🤠