#wake up motherfuckers its flat fuck sunday

[annimoose]

Knuckles my boy, what did the county state fair do to you?

#wake up motherfuckers its flat fuck sunday #free my boy knucks #sth #sonic the hedgehog #FREE HIM!!

[amnachil]

The College Society Chapter 1 Part 3

Hi :) Here is the next part, sorry for the little delay !

Enjoy :3

Liam Saturday September 9 – Sunday September 10

Pasta's Place was a rather famous restaurant in town. Located near to his appartement, it was a nice and wide building, which probably could host more than one hundred of customers at one time. By the way, Liam didn't want to work here at first, but he needed money. The boss and owner, Shannon Liliano, was the sister of Mrs. Liliano, who owned a bakery in his highschool's town, and thanks to his mother acquaintance, he had been hired here. The boy arrived at Pasta's Place at 3pm, and introduced himself to the young girl who welcomed him.

"Well, nice to meet you Liam." she said. "I'm Judith Liliano, but you can call me Judy. I will present you to the team and then explain the work. You'll see, it's easy once you get used to it."

They started by meeting their coworkers, and then he helped to get the restaurant ready for 5pm, hour of opening. Judy explained him approximately everything. She was nice and kind, and Liam felt reassured by her attitude. Eventually, the first customer came in, and the process began. The young lad was doing the dishes on the washboard. It was exhausting, way more than he thought. C'mon Liam, you can do this. Think about the money. Moreover, it was also repetitive, and he felt quickly bored. (He wasn't used to work a long time on something... He was more the kind of boy to let his mind ramble). Fortunately, after four hours, Judy came to see how he was doing.

"I can imagine it's a little frustrating, but someone needs to do it." she told him. "I was at your place not that far ago."

"Don't worry, I can handle it." he assured.

(To be honest, he was tired, his hands were trembling and he had an headache, but she would take him for what, if he admitted this ?) (He didn't have a lot of pride, but at least enough to not confess  he was weaker than her). (Was it seriously that hard every night ? Because he wasn't sure to be really able to handle it).

"Liam, are you there ?"

The lad blinked, surprised. He stared at her, and frowned. Did she said something ?

"You literally were sleeping on your feet, were you ?" she asked while holding her laughs.

"May... Maybe... It's exhausting you know ? I don't know how you have handle this so far."

Realizing what he was saying, he blushed. Can I really be that clumsy ? Judy just laughed.

"You deserved a break big boy. Come with me."

She led him towards the kitchen to a little room, where worker were supposed to eat during their breaks. The girl told him to sat, and took two plates from a counter. She took a place in front of him, and smiled.

"You'll see why we're quite famous in town."

Liam looked his plate (obviously it was pasta) and the surrounding. In a corner, there were a TV switched on, but otherwise, they were alone.

"I'm not really hungry." he said.

His gurgling stomach belied his words, and he blushed. Judy stared at him with a smile, and ate a big mouthful of her own plate.

"Don't be shy. A big and strong man like you have to eat anyway. Besides, our pasta are really really good. You'll love it."

Did I already tell I have no willpower ? The young lad didn't want to eat. Food wasn't its friend anymore. (Yeah, food was like a living thing). But his belly and Judy were insisting. Liam took his fork, and started to eat. As promised, it was awesome. He didn't imagine pasta could have this taste. Without any restraint, he polished his plate in no time, and felt rather satisfied.

"As I told you." laughed Judy. "Do you want more ?"

"No."

Liam realised he answered too fast, and too agressively. I really don't want anything more but I don't have to be this rude.

"No thanks." he corrected himself. "It was nice, but I'm fine now."

As he said before, food wasn't its friend anymore. He remembered him too many bad memories. I have to put limits, that's all... C'mon, let's back to work.

The ringtone of his phone woke him up the next morning around 11am. Like an undead (or whatever, the point being he was dozy), he stood up and checked his phone. Mom, 38 calls. Okay... Slowly, he put his phone back and laid down onto his bed. Wait... Mom, 38 calls ?! He raised up suddenly, and realized what it meant. He was supposed to meet her this morning ! Without even taking the time to dress, he rushed towards the door and opened. Rachel Strucker was waiting there, drinking a coffee in a little procelain cup. Wearing an original flowery hat, a long red dress and high heel, she smiled cheerfully to her son.

"38 calls before you finally wake up, that's less than I expected."

"Hi mom."

She entered in the room, and put her purse shaped like a heart in a corner. Well, at least she didn't change that much since the last time I saw her... I bet she'll firstly say it's dusty, or I'm not her son.

"Are you eating well Liam ?"

Shup up. Not you mom, the voices who are laughing. (To err is human, after all). (He was still his son). Of course she would ask that. She had noticed month ago that he stopped to enjoy his food.

"Don't worry mom, I'm fine. By the way, how are ya doing ?"

Liam knew she went through a difficult period with the problems they had been facing recently. It was already impressive that she didn't fall into depression. After all, between him moving and his siblings leaving... (That was a part of the sad story Liam didn't want to tell).

"At least I'm alive." she answered quite ironically. "But we're not here to discuss about me. Did I said your appartement was dusty ?"

"Not yet, but I reckon you thought it loudly."

His mother nodded unthinkingly, and took a close look at him. She sighed with weariness, and threw up her hands.

"My lord, tell me what went wrong with this boy ?"

What ? He blinked, surprised. She was waiting something, but he didn't know what. Just think Liam... What did you do wrong ? Maybe she glimpsed the beer in the fridge ? Or the pizza, the burgers and the pasta. It would have been a problem, but she didn't open the fridge yet. Did she have a new haircut ?

"You're in underwear Liam." she eventually sighed. "And despite the fact I find you cute my little boy, I must remind you I'm your mother. Go get dressed please."

Rebecca Wednesday September 13

Since the induction seminar, things were going well for the young girl. After all, several members of the swimteam were nicer than she first thought, and she started to feel at ease with them. And for her delight, she now had two friend in her promotion. Well, more one friend and one fucking little smart Aleck. After all, she wouldn't really consider Nick as a friend. He was too immature, noisy and mischievous. Anyway, Rebecca finished her diner quickly, took her bag and went to the pool with a mix of excitation and fear. She had not make any swimming yet, and she was eager to show her team what she was capable of. She entered in the locker room, get dressed, and then went in the pool. She glimpsed Nick, sat on a bench playing at his gameboy, and Laura, selecting swimming caps for the next tournament. The other were all in the pool. I somtimes wonder why Nick joined this team... He had nothing of a sportsman. Well, he got a "normal" body, tall and slim, without neither muscle nor fat, just a flat stomach and chest. Theo appealed her attention when he shouted :

"Hey Rebbie, are you going to train a bit ? I want to see what you're able to do !"

"Coming captain."

She kindly went into the water, and once perfectly ready, she started to swim in crawl. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster. Quickly, she did a serie of lenght, tempting the others. Theo yelled :

"Faster Rebbie ! Faster !"

Maybe he didn't know that, but he used exactly the same sentence than Bob. The sentence she got used to when she needed to do her best. That was why she sped up. She could hear the clappings, the supports, but only Theo's words counted. Faster. When she eventually finished her series, they all were astounded. A bunch of students rushed her to congrat her performance. Rebecca smiled. Guys, I'm a national athlete, to surpass my limits is my job, you don't have to be so surprised. She felt proud of herself while listening to them, but she lost her smile for a second when she glanced at Nick. This asshole didn't move from his bench, at all. He didn't even raise his head. He was still playing. He could have at least watch me ! She wanted to tell him something, but a remark caught her interest.

"Black girl are always good for sports." was saying the sophomore called Matthew. "It's natural."

Rebecca turned towards him and frowned spitefully.

"What do you mean ? You think I'm doing this only because I'm black ?"

"It's playing, at least."

She clenched her fist and wanted to punch him in the balls without any hesitation, but Theo took part hastidly and placed himself between them.

"C'mon guys. She did well, it's the only thing which matter. Just go back to your training now."

They all obeyed, but Rebecca and this asshole of Matthew stared nastily at each other for a long time...

After the training, in the shower, the young girl was still pissed by this fucking motherfucker. He dared tell she was good because she was black ! Seriously ? He's jealous. A girl is better than him, he's just jealous. Laura, who was next to her, whispered :

"You know, this bar of soap did nothing wrong."

Rebecca blinked, surprised. (She was crushing the soap in her fist). Theo's girlfriend smiled softly.

"There will always be people to point out your difference when you're better or worst than them. It's safer to ignore them as much as possible."

"I know that." responded the black girl to Laura. "But I expected university to be different. In my highschool, a lot of girls and boys were laughing at me because I was tall and athletic. They said I was a boy without balls. I thought this was over now."

"Sorry to disappoint, but college isn't a paradise." confessed the small girl. "We may be older and freer, we're not perfect for all that. Racism still exist, as all the vice which affect humanity."

Rebecca nodded slowly. She knew that, even if she pretended the contrary. Matthew was just a stupid jackass, and sadly not the only one.

"Anyway, you're really good at swimming." continued Laura. "Theo was stunned by your performance. I think he would love to see you in tournament."

"I'm sorry, I already told you I can't. I have to focus on running."

Bob agreed for a sport, but not for competitive sport. He thought she could manage to practice swimming, but she had to keep her mind focused on running. Plus, her parents wanted her to study. And I can't count on Nick nor Liam to help me with lessons... The first one was certainly too geek to be a good student, and the second was... miles away.

"It's exactly what I told him." assured Laura. "But Theo is a bit stubborn when it comes to tournament, so don't be mad if he insist a bit."

"Don't worry. I didn't saw him train, by the way. Did he give up to be trainer ?"

She knew he was doing law studies, and was quite good at it. According to Pete, his father was a famous lawyer, and the son followed in his footsteps. However, Rebecca mainly saw him drunk or stoned.

"He's training during the afternoon, with me. It's quieter." revealed the small brunette girl. "And trust me, he's good. Anyway, will you come to the induction seminar of our sorority this weekend or have you a tournament ?"

"Well, I have a big training and a tournament." replied Rebecca. "Is that bad to miss this event ?"

"Not so much... As you probably guessed, we'll drink, make party and drink again... Plus, the fraternity Theta Omicron will be right next to us so... we'll certainly also have sex."

The black girl smiled, discomforted. She was not used to this kind of talk, because she didn't really have many female friends... (Honestly, she didn't have friends from highschool at all). Laura, who have finished her shower, got dressed and headed towards the door.

"See you soon Rebbie. Good night." she concluded.

Pete Friday September 15

One week after the beginning of the classes, the young lad started to understand why Friday wasn't a good day. His private law's professor gave them an essay, as the last week. And he hated this, because he had to make it during his sunday's evening in addition to his new job at Mcdo. It was a part-time job, in order to finance his studies. Pete went out of the amphiteater B, and glimpsed Theo, waiting for him leaning back against a wall. Jeezus... I shouldn't do this. Just... I should ran away. Despite his thoughts, he came closer, and smiled to the swimteam captain. This one was wearing a singlet and a bermuda short, showing his perfect body to whom wanted to see it. He had this dark handsome stranger style Pete loved. When they were close, the captain smiled.

"Hi little boy. Why are you blushing like this ?"

You know why... Damnit, this is bad. Since the induction weekend, they grew closer. Sexually closer. In highschool, Pete experienced several boys, despite not being popular, (there always are some boys curious, and he was glad to show them), but Theo was... at another level. But in the same time, the swimteam leader was dating Laura. I'm a lover, I'm not official... that's not good. Nevertheless, it was so enjoyable. And Theo was so hot.

"You're just... good-looking today." answered softly Pete. "Even more than yesterday."

"But less than tomorrow..." whispered his friend. "This induction seminar of the fraternity will be... joyous."

As he said "joyous", Theo slipped his hand under Pete's tee-shirt, and stroked his belly. My god. It feel so nice... Looking around, the young lad realized they were alone, all the students were gone to eat. He focused on his captain, and murmured :

"Are you seriously loving me being a bit fat ? I think it's kinda weird, you know ?"

Theo barely listen to him. While his right hand continued to rub Pete's stomach, he kissed him in the neck, and came closer. His hardenning penis struck against the freshman's short. I can't control this... He is too hot, too eager...

"You're not fat." whispered Theo. "You're perfect... This little pudge is perfect...Don't hold yourself back from doing sex, you know you want it... Relax yourself."

Pete hesistated a second. The time his lover put his hand down in his boxer. Then, he gave himself to Theo.

This night, Pete came back to his appartment quite late. He worked at Mcdo until 2am, and felt tired. And I have to wake up early in order to get ready for the induction seminar... Honestly, he was dying to go, and to have sex with Theo as much as possible. (He knew it was bad, but he couldn't restrain himself). However right now, he wanted to sleep. Gently, he went to the bathroom, and get naked. Pete took a moment to watch himself. His momma had told him he was ugly, back in the times, but with Theo, he didn't feel ugly. She was doing this only to provoke me. And she's crazy anyway. Blond, with blue eyes, he was 177 cm (5'10") and weighted 73 kg (160 pounds). Of course he wasn't fat. Not even chubby. He just have a bit of belly, which was the reason why Theo loved him. The swimteam captain was the first man he met loving bellies. It's weird but... I please him thanks to this... Pete was aware it wasn't thanks to his personality, because they didn't know each other for a long time. Theo just liked his body. And if I lose weight, he will stop... I don't want him to stop... For now, the freshman really needed Theo in his life. His mother had assured he would fail his first year, but with the junior by his side, he felt stronger. And on the romance side, she would be happy to know he found a boyfriend. Well, he's not really my boyfriend, but she doesn't need to know that. A knock at the door made him jump.

"What the fuck you want Mike ?" he asked.

His roommate, a footballer, answered through the wood :

"I need to pee, and you're in this fuckin' bathroom for at least ten minutes now. What are ya doing ?"

"Nothing important. Wait a second."

Pete wore his pajamas, and then opened the door. He smiled to Mike. This one was a tall (really tall) and beefy freshman. He looked strangely to the smaller boy, and then sighed.

"I said I wanted to pee. You will not stay here to watch me, right ?"

To be continued

Part 5 next week ! (I said that last time too :x)

#the college society #CS #Liam #Rebecca #Pete #You need to work to attend college #sad life #food everywhere #Theo is kinky #chapter 1 #Part 3 #My Story

[thepulta]

“Westlie.”

“Westlie, wake up.”

... That was Morgan’s voice. Westlie felt her body curl in a defensive ball. “.... go ’way.”

“Westlie, we’re going out. Wake up.” She kicked the bed and Westlie pulled the covers over her head, scowling.

There was a hum from the corner of the room and Westlie heard one of her drawers close. Some article of clothing flopped over her lumpy form. She peaked out and opened one eye, glaring in that general direction. A corset promptly came out of nowhere and smacked Westlie square in the face. She reached up and flicked it back. “Fucking stop, oh my god.”

“Oh good! You’re awake.” Morgan’s grin was palpable and her sister seethed. “Come on, get dressed. We’re going out.”

The fuck? “Out? What out? We went out last night.”

“You can never have enough ‘out’.” Morgan tossed the corset at her again. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Westlie pushed her head up and stared sullenly at the clothing on the bed - Morgan apparently felt like boots and breeches tonight - heaved a groan and dropped dramatically backward on her pillow. There was a brief period of almost-sleep before Westlie spasmed with a screech. The lithe 24-year-old had taken a flying leap onto the bed and belly-flopped on top of her, making the slats creak. “You witch!” Westlie shoved her off; she was fully awake now to her goddamn dismay. “Fucking- Let me sleep!”

Morgan slid off the side, lining up their faces with her cutest look. Westlie scowled. She could never resist that stare and Morgan knew it. “You have to come out! Come on, Westlie. I know you’re tired, but it’s not even the end of the month.”

“... I’m on three hours of sleep right now.”

“I let you sleep for four hours until I woke you up.” The face turned into a guilty plead. “You’re on seven hours now. Come on. It’s midnight; it’s beautiful.”

Westlie tried to scowl harder, but she could feel herself cracking and her sleep felt farther and farther by the second anyway. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Morgan leaned forward, grabbed her, and cheerfully pulled her into a more upright position, shoving an undershirt into her hands. Westlie gave up and didn’t fight it. “You don’t have to look presentable, I promise. Just put the corset on over, but you do have to hurry.”

Welp, there went sleep. Westlie gave a deep sigh and started pulling off the nightgown. “... somewhere with no people is new.”

“I do aim to please occasionally.” Morgan hummed as she slipped off the bed, tossing several other articles of clothing into Westlie’s lap. She two-stepped away, rummaging through Westlie’s drawers and inspecting the room she’d seen a million times before just to kill time. The absentminded shasay took her over to the closet and she kicked open the loose board within with practiced ease. “Your rope’s looking a little frayed, Wes.”

“... That’s because you keep using mine instead of yours.”

“Pfft. I was gone for two months.”

“You consistently bother me when you get back.”

Morgan leaned on the bedpost, teasing in the uniquely coy way she had. “See, I’d ask if you’d been out and about trying to pick up a man except I’ve asked around and you officially have not left the shop-” Westlie opened her mouth to protest and Morgan held up a finger. “-Except to get tea once at Grendals.”

“Do you have spies on me?”

“Oh please, we’re like the only people our age on this side of town with red hair.” Morgan snorted and bent down to knot the rope around the bedpost. She jerked it tight as Westlie fastened up her boots. “I myself am memorable, and you are not. Thus, they also remember you.”

“That- that makes no sense.”

“I’m an undiscovered genius. Your intelligence is clearly inferior.”

Westlie scowled and made an indeterminate gesture to the bed behind her, hoping she gave off the aura of ‘I’m humoring you, bitch.’

Morgan grinned slyly, an apology for the joke. “Well, just replace the rope. I don’t need it snapping and dropping you on your ass when I’m not here to see it.”

Westlie contemplated throttling her and going back to sleep but she was both too tired and too awake to do either of those things. She decided to scrounge for hairpins instead, couldn’t find enough, and settled for the worst braid she’d ever done in her life tied with package string, coiling and pinning it in some form of braid-bun. She straightened up and Morgan grinned.

“Ready?” Morgan waited for the nod before swooping and bowing low towards the window. “You first, madam.”

“..... why?”

“I have to keep an eye on you so you don’t fall back asleep.” The sly grin returned. “And if the rope snaps I want a good view.”

Motherfucker.

Westlie rolled her eyes and made sure to stomp on Morgan’s boot as she headed over to perch on the windowsill, glancing over London before she made her way down. It was a quiet Sunday night. For some godly reason Sundays were still half-sacred in Albion and the factories tended to shutter before nightfall. The decrease in production helped the smog. There were no storms tonight either, Albion was still. Westlie could smell - almost taste - shatter-crystal on the breeze. Maybe there was an island in bloom somewhere. The white microscopic shards weren’t the safest thing in large doses, but here, now, it was soft like vanilla and it enticed Westlie into leaning out the window. “Mm, it usually isn’t that strong.”

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Morgan sounded smug and Westlie shrugged.

“Not worth my sleep though.”

“Yeah, yeah, move your ass.”

Westlie grabbed the rope and gave a one-fingered salute before she dropped off the edge and shimmied down with a few familiar motions. Even half-asleep it was mangeable. The rope, also, did not break. Morgan thumped down beside her a few seconds later with a cheeky grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“Xeno’s porchway.” Morgan knew that name meant nothing to Westlie and she teasingly poked her sister’s nose. “Don’t even worry about it. Just trust me.” She skipped to the edge of the garden, leaping to the top of the wall with one smooth motion where she did a pirouette and reached a hand down for Westlie who didn’t need it.

“Stars, all I do is trust you.” Westlie took the hand anyway.

“And have I ever been wrong?”

“Oh you’re wrong all right. Positively illegal is another way to put it.” They leaped down from the wall together and glanced around at the empty street. Midnight did have its benefits. “Have you gotten caught? Miraculously no.”

They crossed the street and Morgan made some vague map-motions in the air, thinking of the fastest route and then pointing towards an alleyway within a cluster of townhomes. “See, you say that, but I know you love it.”

Westlie groaned and scrubbed her face. “No, I’m boring as fuck, Morgan. I can live without barfights. I love you.”

Morgan stopped on the sidewalk for a hot minute and actually blinked at her. Shit. Westlie tried to remember the last time she’d said that in person. ‘Love, Wes’ in letters didn’t count. It... had probably been too long, honestly, because she couldn’t remember.

“... Did you hit your head climbing down?”

“No.” Westlie felt her face burn and she kept walking. “Stop making it a big deal.”

Shit, fuck. Her heart stopped five seconds later because now it WAS a big deal and- there were sudden footsteps. “Catch me!” Westlie nearly toppled as her sister’s legs wrapped around her waist and her arms latched around her neck.

“You’re twenty-four!! You’re fucking heavy!” Westlie caught the edge of the building, wobbled, and somehow didn’t fucking fall flat on her goddamn face. “Holy fuck. What is wrong with you. I take it all back.”

“Nope,” Morgan’s chin settled on her head. “You love me.”

“I hate you so much. Get off my back. I’m not fucking walking anywhere.”

“That’s ok.”

“Morgan!”

They stood there for a full thirty seconds in a sulky stalemate before Morgan got bored and slid off. Westlie gasped at the relief and tried to pop her shoulders as her lungs decompressed. “Jesus Christ.”

Morgan gently poked her side after a second as they continued walking. Westlie glared at her but it quickly faded. “...You know I love you too.”

And there it was. There was her little sister; not the cocksure adult she’d grown into who had a ridiculously specific skillset. Morgan’s eyes were happy and earnest and Westlie felt her heart melt a little. Her face softened into a smile. “Yeah- yeah, I know.”

Westlie resisted the urge to grab her and pull her close and settled for reaching out and gently tapping Morgan’s nose. The result was the same: Morgan positively glowed.

After a few seconds it was like being next to an furnace Westlie had just shoveled a full ton of coal into. Morgan finally bounced on her toes, skipped two steps ahead, spun around and walked backwards. “Want to run? Let’s run.”

Fuck it. They might as well get there faster. Westlie tilted her head back and enjoyed the breeze as they slipped through the empty side-streets of London, the scent of shatter-crystal hovering over them. Morgan still led like usual, ducking into alleyways as they dodged the occasional constable; she had an incredible memory of their routes and Westlie was half convinced she spent most of her evenings stalking them. They didn’t seem to be headed deeper into London though, instead, they climbed a chimney sweep ladder and headed west over the rooftops, still following Morgan’s horrifyingly accurate mental compass. Was their destination on the west end? Westlie couldn’t remember anything past these townhomes; she wasn’t even sure if she’d been on this part of town before.

After leaping five rooftops, Westlie’s legs burned. After losing count of the jumps, they turned to jelly. At some point she tripped halfway across the roof, caught herself before she really took a tumble, somersaulted, and popped up only to flop over. panting, on a thankfully inactive chimney. “Morgan!”

Morgan hit the brakes just before leaping to the next roof. “Oh shit, sorry. I meant to stop back there.”

“Thanks. Just- you know- a breather.” The sincerity from her was rare enough Westlie felt amused. She sank against the chimney and let her lungs take back in oxygen. It took a minute before she felt halfway back to normal. “We never take the roofs. Why roofs tonight?”

“It’s prettier.”

Westlie breathlessly laughed a little. It was, actually, prettier than running in the alleys. Probably safer too, all things considered. There was generally some malicious thing waiting in the dark on the outskirts. Up here it was quiet. A few of the factory chimneys leaked smoke from the distance, not big puffs, but small threads of malevolence. The scent of shatter-crystal still followed. Westlie sniffed. It smelled like mushrooms too? Something- something like that. Maybe that’s why the night was so bright tongiht. little tendrils of bioluminescent fungi spores floating in the breeze. She looked in all four directions, taking in the rows upon rows of chimneys and rooftops. “You’re right, it is beautiful.” Had she ever said that about London? Westlie laughed a little and Morgan raised an eyebrow. “No, I mean it. It is. That’s- that’s what’s so weird. It is.”

“You really need to get out of the shop more.”

Westlie shot her sister a look and Morgan immediately raised her hands in surrender. They stayed there for a few more minutes, just gazing at the soft glow.

Finally Morgan got her her feet. “Ready?”

Westlie nodded, backing up halfway across the roof to regain her momentum and then they were off again.

It took another fifteen minutes of rooftop travel and five more minutes of shimmying down a rusty fire escape to end up in the midst of a wild fungi patch. It glowed a bright blue malevolently when they approached. and Westlie felt a shiver run down her spine. “Morgan...?”

“Oh, don’t worry about them. It’s fine.” God, everything was fine with this woman. Westlie vaguely remembered that she was supposed to be asleep right now. What was she even doing tomorrow? Letters? Reports? A more personal terror sent another shudder down her spine and she tried to refocus on the shrooms three times her height. “Just don’t step on the little ones.” Morgan brushed aside a fern to show a little fungi pushing through the shrubbery. “They get mad if you do that. Follow my footsteps.”

Westlie scowled at the mushrooms and just obeyed.

Getting through the patch was easier than she thought it’d be, but every hair on the back of her neck stood on end. It felt like the shrooms were staring at them as they slipped through, eyes everywhere from the soil, the sides, below. The gaze itched at her skin until there was a glimpse of light and the view of stems broke. Westlie realized with a start they were at the edge of the island. London stretched behind them - and after a gaping expanse - in front of them, but it all seemed so very far with the red foggy mists of the high wilderness swirling beneather them. Westlie realized after a few seconds she literally wasn’t breathing and she had to remember to raise her chest up and down. She glanced over at Morgan who was staring off the same way. Her face was soft, happy; she finally looked over with a little smile. “You like it?”

“It’s incredible! How’d you even find it?”

The smile got a little cocky. “Too much time on my hands.”

Westlie snorted, smiling.

Morgan eventually turned left and kept walking; Westlie followed her, trecking slowly through the ferns, occasionally checking for mini-shrooms. A bridge from one side of London to another stood in the distance, but it was incredibly far off. It’d probably take all night to reach it, so Morgan couldn’t be headed there, but it did look like she had a purpose. Westlie was just about to ask where they were stopping when they rounded a curve and were abruptly greeted with an old but fairly-intact walking bridge arching off the island and then circling back into the fungi where the path was immediately eaten up and disappeared.

The wilderness stretched beneath and in front of them, gaping, backlighting the rest of London on the island further to the west with the night’s soft golden-orange hue. There was still the hint of the luminescent mushroom spores, especially here with the forest behind them, and still the scent of the shatter-crystal that she could taste whenever she took a deep breath. When she peeked over the edge of the island, there were wind currents swirling and her heart skipped.

Morgan rubbed her hands together. She walked a few steps onto the bridge and spun around, grabbing the steel railings on either side with each hand. “Surprise! Don’t worry, it’s safe; I already tested it. Isn’t it amazing? We have to be the only people who know. I think the fungi just didn’t like the path, ate it up, and then everyone forgot this last bit is here. But it’s amazing.”

“It’s- It’s--” It was more than amazing. Westlie couldn’t even think of a word. She hoped her face conveyed something awe-struck and enamored because she felt enamored. A gust of wind from the wilderness blew over them and she felt her soul sing. Westlie laughed a little incredulously after it blew over and she stepped on the walkway. “Anything else you want to show me?”

Morgan grinned and Westlie wanted to laugh because of course there was more. “One more thing. Just one more. Come on.”

They walked to the apex of the arch where a rope had been tied around one of the steel railing posts. Morgan plopped down on the walkway, letting her legs dangle over the edge into nothing and started pulling it up. “Help me.”

Westlie grabbed the rope from above, keeping half the weight off as Morgan struggled to pull it up.

“You know that it’s-” she paused and panted, “Really fucking cold down there, right?”

“Yeah...?”

Morgan reached down, heaved, and finally dragged an ancient-looking tin bucket with an ancient-looking tin lid onto the walkway. “Well.” she slapped it. “I found out it’s really good for storing wine.”

Wine.

Westlie completely broke down and laughed for a full minute; a deep uncontrollable belly laugh that made her clutch the railing to stay upright. She finally wiped her eyes and slid to the ground beside her sister on the other side of the bucket. She dangled her legs over the edge, savoring the icy prick of the wastes. “Morgan- I don’t even know what to say.”

Morgan had already removed the bucket lid and was pulling out one of the wine bottles - she’d packed two, Westlie noticed, along with two wine glasses; unchipped, surprisingly, for being held in a tin bucket. “You didn’t think I’d let this go without a drink, did you?”

“N- No actually, I don’t know why I’m surprised. But why.” Westlie laughed again, grabbing one of the wine glasses while Morgan worked her magic on the cork. “We could have just gone to the pub.”

Morgan popped the bottle open with a pleased look and threw the cork carelessly into the high wilderness with the assurance of a woman who never recorked wine. “Wes, do you remember what day it is?”

“... Sunday? Monday now.”

“It’s April.”

“It... is April?”

Morgan poured Westlie’s glass first, then her own all the way to the brim, clearly enjoying this game of twenty questions. “What day in April?”

“Oh... April...? 5th? I don’t even remember.”

“April 7th actually. I thought you did paperwork.”

Westlie rolled her eyes and took a long sip, opening her eyes and glancing at the bottle appreciatively. “That’s not bad. Where’d you steal it?”

“Westlie!” Morgan grinned in mock horror with a little clutch over her heart. “I’m dishonored.”

“Oh spare me. You’ve never bought wine in your life.”

“Westlie, I am doubly dishonored. I bought this for quarter-price at Marseille’s Shop.”

“... so basically you stole it.”

“Oh hush; talk less, drink more.” Morgan looped her left arm through the railing and leaned over the lowest bar, taking her own advice and cheerfully sipping as she stared into the swirling depths. Westlie couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she rolled her eyes and did the same. They drank in happy silence until Morgan glanced back over at her. “You never said why you didn’t know the date.”

“Mm.” Westlie took another sip, leaning back and looking up instead of down. “You know; the days run together.” She closed her eyes happily. “It feels like the 5th honestly.”

Morgan groaned like she was pulling teeth. “Do you even know what’s on April 7th?”

“No...?”

Her sister sighed. “Your birthday, you jackass. It’s your fucking birthday.”

Westlie glanced over at Morgan with a slightly offended, then slightly horrified look on her face. “Wait, you’re not joking.”

“Why would I joke, Westlie?!” Morgan, tossed up her hands, nearly sloshing wine all over herself. “God, you’re a fucking moron sometimes. Can’t even remember your own birthday.”

“I have an excuse! I’m busy!”

“It’s your birthday.”

Westlie gave up chasing her dignity and placed her glass on the walkway, spreading her arms out on the ground and staring up at where the stars would be if smog didn’t cover them. It felt like a long time since they’d spent a birthday together. A year? Two? Nobody else remembered and she... didn’t care enough to celebrate, so apparently it’d skipped her mind. She had to grin a little at the absurdity. “... that is really dumb, isn’t it.”

Morgan pulled her legs up and crossed them, moving the tin bucket from between them to the far side so they were closer together. “Yeah, it is. ... but on the other hand, I know you have mine written on the shop calendar so you remember it.”

Westlie glanced over at her. “You know about that?”

“You keep the key to the shop in your sock drawer. It’s not a big mystery.”

“You know about that?”

Morgan snorted and took another sip. Half the glass was already gone. “Well I guess tonight is just full of surprises.”

“Thank god you don’t fuck with the ledgers at least. I know your handwriting.”

Morgan wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Or do you?”

“Oh fuck you.” Westlie laughed and they sat in comfortable chatter for a long time, watching the swirl of the mists below them. Morgan’s travels were surprisingly uneventful. Westlie needed to manage a captain who was threatening to quit the fleet. Mundane things. There was one particular current Westlie watched twist for a while, doing loops in the mist until it twirled off out of sight under the island and it was shrouded by the fungi on the edge. It was steady and enticing. They finished the first bottle and Morgan uncorked the second, refilling Westlie’s glass without any visible trouble. Westlie could feel the first two glasses thick in her head and she happily accepted the third. Tomorrow felt far, far away now, and she couldn’t remember what needed to be done. There was definitely one part of her brain alerting her how heavy her feet felt and she was now tipping over from ‘had a little’ to ‘maybe too much’ but everything felt light and perfect and she wasn’t going to stop now. The consequences would all be tomorrow-Westlie’s problem anyway. It was her birthday and she was with Morgan.

Speaking of which, Westlie leaned over the railing again and looked down at the currents. Some driftwood smashed together far below them. It should have made a sound but it didn’t really. Sound and distance were tricky in the wilderness. “Morgan, I want to be a navigator.”

“Mmm. So says the twenty-six year old recluse. You know I also want to be a gymnast, but I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re such a dick. You know I’m good at it.”

“You’re also good at wrestling some form of order out of the sheer chaos of Fairweather.” Morgan downed a fourth of her glass in one go and refilled it. “You don’t have to chase everything you’re good at, you know. You could just- not.”

What you’re good at doesn’t make you happy. Westlie could almost hear her say, even though Morgan’s drops of advice on that topic were rare, piecemeal, and often undefined. If it wasn’t one thing, it’d be another.

“Hmph.” Westlie’s mind dismissed it out of hand. She shrugged and took another sip. “I love the sky though. Look at that.” She gestured to the abyss below them. “Endless possibilities. That’s a class one wind. Play with the shapes; what log curve does it make when you cross it? Does it catch on your hull? Are you bulky enough to flatten it?” She peered over the edge, following another bit of driftwood caught in the current. “This is definitely the best present you’ve ever gotten me.”

“You’re welcome.” Westlie glanced over at her and Morgan smiled behind her glass. “If you tell anyone else about this place though, you’re dead to me.”

“Who else would I tell?” Westlie looped her right arm around the railing, closed her eyes, and leaned out, filling her nose with the scent of vanilla. She opened her eyes and blinked after a moment. “You know, you’ve been gone for two months. Did you come home just for this?”

Morgan choked on her wine and coughed for thirty seconds. Westlie watched her, vaguely amused and vaguely reminded of her own earlier embarassment to be caught affectionate. “... it was on the way.”

Huh. She was lying. “Where are you going next anyway?”

“New Winchester, probably. Maybe Leadbeater or Brabazon?” Morgan cocked her head, thinking. “Whevever the cheapest captain wants to go maybe.”

“Back to the Reach is not on the way to Albion from Port Prosper.”

Morgan flushed and glared at her, finishing off the rest of her glass. “You always complain when I take more expensive trips! I’m trying to conserve money; this captain was cheaper.”

Westlie grinned a little. “I can, very occasionally, tell when you’re lying.”

Morgan threw her head back and groaned. “God, it’s always the worst times.” She sulked and poured herself the rest of the bottle, glancing at Westlie’s still-half-full glass. “... I came back for this. Fuck, I should have bought three bottles.”

“Pfft. Two’s enough. Your face is starting to look fuzzy.”

“Well I’m not a goddamn lightweight.” Morgan tossed back another quarter of her glass to prove a point. “This was so good too. I’ll get some more tomorrow.”

Westlie watched her flounder for a minute, quietly pleased and probably as happy as Morgan was earlier, if less verbose. She finally sat up, pulling her legs from over the edge and crossing them. It took her a minute to get settled but she managed. She was sitting with her sister in her new favorite place in London. It was definitely impossible to be happier. She hesitated for a moment, then leaned and rested her head on Morgan’s shoulder. Her sister stiffened for a minute before sighing. “... maybe I should have only got one bottle.”

“Shut up. I’m enjoying myself.”

Morgan shut up.

They sat in happy silence for some indeterminate amount of time. Westlie felt Morgan finish the last of her glass, and she slowly reached a quarter of her own glass as her limbs felt more and more unwieldy.

“Wes?”

“Hm.”

Morgan leaned against her a little and Westlie felt her drop her defenses. “Do you... remember stuff from when we were little?”

It depended. Some of Westlie’s memory felt like she’d intentionally wiped it. She assumed Morgan meant for birthdays though and Westlie could in fact remember a time when Relia had the bright idea of doing something in her children’s lives. Westlie remembered a few parties; big, extravagent, expensive things with four additional screaming children and a lot of well-dressed adults. There’d been dress-making for the occasion. Westlie remembered sitting in the dining hall feeling incredibly lost within several folds of now somewhat old-fashioned pettycoats and a bunch of green ribbons and lace trim. Had she wanted red? She closed her eyes and frowned. She had wanted red. Relia had laughed at her opinion. Green goes with your hair dear, it has to be green. You’ll look like a fat apple otherwise. ...She’d only been five maybe and Westlie had still taken offense to that. Westlie snorted a little and opened her eyes to stare at London and escape the sudden feeling of claustrophobia. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Was I seven when we stopped doing them..? Do you remember?”

“Six.”

“Huh.”

Morgan’s last birthday party had been her sixth. Westlie remembered because there had been six candles on the cake and one of the few invited children (who neither Westlie nor Morgan knew, they were just the children of the adults invited) pulled it out of the cake and sucked on it. Relia went into a fit of hysterics, smacked the other child, and told the maid to throw out the cake entirely since it was now officially ruined. The adult party went on like normal but there was the sullen, soggy memory of sitting in the room next door listening to chatter dressed in some inane floofy dress looking like a mockery of Relia’s lace drapes while three other children, one crying because they got smacked, sat across the room staring with wide uncertain eyes.

Drunken Westlie laughed a little at how stupid it was. “Do you remember?”

“Just the dresses.” Morgan picked up her wine glass like she needed another sip after experiencing something she didn’t like, saw it was empty and turned it upside down for any last drops. It was, officially, quite empty. “Stars, I hated those dresses. I felt like an idiot.”

“You looked like an idiot.” Morgan snorted and bounced her shoulder so Westlie smacked her cheek and had to steady herself on the walkway before leaning on her again. “Heyy-”

“How did you even remember the date? You were eight.”

“Birthdays are more important when you’re younger.” Westlie couldn’t actually remember how she did it. Maybe she wrote it down? But it just seemed so big and important and after that fiasco there was a bit of bitterness at Relia and she figured even she could do better - which, in fact, she could, because next year Westlie just put Morgan in the garden with a sparkly firecracker she’d found on the docks and no seven-year-old squealed harder. That was probably how she remembered, actually; December 17th was marked with Morgan’s happy carefree laughter.

“I’m glad she stopped.” Morgan hesitated, shifting away and Westlie had to straighten up. “Otherwise, well, we couldn’t have done this.” She gestured out to the wilderness and London in the distance. “Can you imagine having to attend something like that every year?”

“There’d be people.” Westlie glanced at her. “And alcohol at this point. There’d be, what?  A fifty percent chance you like it?”

Morgan made a face. “Not the same thing. The house would be full of idiots, and I couldn’t pick a single one. You know, they’d probably try to matchmake at the same time too.”

Both sisters simultaneously shuddered.

Westlie took another drink. “I suppose we should be grateful to that one little shit who got slapped then.” She raised her glass sarcastically. “To the one who got slapped. Wherever you are.”

Morgan snorted. “Fuck that kid. Who pulls out a candle before you cut the cake anyway.”

Westlie raised her glass, the motion twice as sarcastic. “And to avoiding stupid children.”

Her sister chuckled and leaned back, they settled into a dull sort of silence, slightly different from the one before. Morgan finally turned and glanced at her. “I like the way we do it now, when we remember them.”

“Mailing random shit and praying it reaches you in time?”

“Well, that too; I... like the things you send me.”

Westlie snorted a little and took a drink. “You don’t have to say that. I just pick whatever seems more applicable at the time.”

“No, I- I do. And I hope you like- this.” Morgan gave a half-hearted shrug. “I mean, I just found it. It’s not exciting or particularly useful-”

“Morgan-” Westlie finished her glass and something in her drunken head decided that was enough of her sister talking. She set the glass down and leaned over, grabbing Morgan and yanking her closer so they were side by side. Morgan yelped. “You traveled back to me for two weeks, brought me to the prettiest place in London where it’s quiet as sin, and then got me shit-faced.” Westlie hugged her sister as tight as she could, resting her cheek on her shoulder in a cheesy imitation of Morgan’s earlier embrace. “It’s perfect.”

Morgan melted a little in her grasp rather than stiffening in startled uncertainty and Westlie felt her pull a hand free to gently touch her nose. It was true. Everything in the world was absolutely perfect. Maybe thirty seconds later, when Westlie hadn’t moved, Morgan gave a little smile. “... You’re so drunk.”

“Shut up.”

“Let’s go home.”

They stood up and Westlie groaned a little as the world swirled around her, but she was too happy to care. “No rooftops please.”

Morgan reattached the bucket lid and promptly kicked it over the edge of the railing. It flew into the wastes, pulled some interesting gravitational twists, then settled below them. “Oh she of little faith. I hath planned for this and have prepared a shortcut.”

Westlie rolled her eyes and gestured sarcastically to the mushroom forest behind them. “You first.”

“Don’t you need help walking?”

Westlie had to think about that for a second. “I’ve been worse. ... I’m offended you think I can’t hold my liquor.”

“Uhuh.” ... If she could fully make out Morgan’s face after standing so quickly it would probably be disbelieving and unimpressed. “Wes, I hate to break it to you, but I got the good looks and the superior liver.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Morgan rolled her eyes and slung Westlie’s arm over her shoulder. ... it was, in fact, easier to walk that way and Westlie sighed as the still-sober part of her brain was appropriately mortified. Tonight it was alright, tonight was justifiable, but never again. Two glasses and capped.

Morgan did know a quicker route though, even though it was shrouded in shadow. It had taken almost thirty minutes over the rooftops but this time within fifteen minutes they were in greyish alleys (rather than the pitch black of the outskirts) that Westlie was more familiar with. They chatted quietly, Morgan about some inane tale of cider and welcomes and a lovely little oasis in the Reach and Westlie about changes within Fairweather’s fleet. Westlie’s balance improved halfway through too as muscle memory took over. When they were back to the garden she just corrected herself occasionally with a few fingers on Morgan’s arm.

They climbed back up the rope to her room and Westlie groaned, sinking happily against the wallpaper and sliding to the floor. “That was the best and the worst. I’m not going to be able to look you in the eye in the morning am I?”

Morgan pulled her to her feet and shoved her in the direction of the bed. “Don’t be melodramatic. You’re not blackout drunk.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re not yelling about shitty wealthy women who come into the shop and demand assistance.” Westlie yelped as she got spun around and Morgan deftly untied her corset. “I would have stopped you before you got to that point anyway.”

“Liar. You would have egged me on.” Westlie could definitely remember one or two times when she’d felt like going balls to the wall and Morgan did absolutely nothing except hand her shot after shot. They both woke up in the back of the shop ten hours later with both doors barricaded and a shittily scribbled order for 30 boxes of hours, a box of sunlight, 3 caskets of prisoners honey, a jar of red honey, and “some bees”.

Some bees.

She wiggled out of the corset, threw it at the wall, and kicked off her shoes while Morgan waited. “No defense?”

There was a blinding coy grin. “Nah, you’re probably right.”

Westlie snorted and rolled under the covers back to her rightful, proper place in bed. Stars, it felt so good, especially after the wastes. She groaned and balled herself up, opening an eye to glance at Morgan. “You motherfucker. Tore me away from this incredible bed.”

Morgan broke down and laughed. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

“A warm, comfortable idiot.”

Her sister narrowed her eyes, and Westlie could almost see the calculations running. She half sat up, “No no don’t you-” Morgan leapt and belly-flopped a second time on the bed, making Westlie wheeze in pain. “I hate you so much.”

“You were too comfortable.”

“I hate you so much.”

Morgan grinned and curled beside her. “Remember when we used to sleep together?”

“Don’t you dare try to take my bed away from me too.”

“Oh, and what are you going to do? Fight me?”

“... I’m too fucking drunk to banter with you, Morgan.”

“Exactly.” She tossed up the end of the covers and hopped in bed like the little devil she was. Westlie groaned.

“I never win, do I?”

“Not even on your birthday.” Morgan curled up too. She could feel her sister pull the covers over her head and heave a contented sigh. ... that’s right, bitch. My bed is comfortable.

“You can stay for five minutes. I’m twenty-six, I like my bed, and you kick when you’ve been drinking.”

“Hmkay.”

There were a few minutes of silence until Morgan rolled over and Westlie felt her staring at her back. “Wes.”

“What?”

“I’m glad I don’t remember.”

“Remember...?”

“Those birthdays. You know, the early ones.”

Westlie let out a quiet huff of agreement, even though she didn’t know how to respond. Morgan felt small behind her back and she didn’t know how to comfort her or if she needed to.

“But I remember the firecracker in the garden and that time you snuck me onto the dreadnaught.” Westlie smiled into the covers. That was a good memory. Morgan giggled. “And the one time you took me to the pub and you finally got me wasted after 7 sovereigns.”

Westlie had been so pissed at losing close to a month’s pay, but there was inherent satisfaction at being dead sober and watching a newly-christened 16-year-old Morgan screech zee shanties at the top of her lungs, dancing on their table in the corner. That was also a good memory. She rolled over to face her sister and gently tap her nose.

“And there was the time we went to The Racehorse and we had caviar.”

That was a questionable memory. When they were done eating, Morgan slipped away from Westlie’s gaze, somehow put on a server’s suit, and snuck out of the restaurant with a 300-sovereign 1945 surface whiskey. Westlie distinctly remembered reading about it in the paper two days later where there was a 100 sovereign reward if it was found. Morgan then paid a homeless man to turn in the empty bottle to see if she could tease out the reward, only he was immediately thrown into prison. Westlie didn’t want to know if her sister ever broke him out again or not.

“And you sent me that book on triskelegants.” Morgan peered from under the covers with only her eyes showing and Westlie vaguely wondered if she was trying to hide embarassment. “When we do get to celebrate, it’s always good. So... I’m glad I don’t remember anything else.”

Westlie couldn’t think of anything to say so she just touched the tip of her nose again softly and held it there, hoping she could convey everything that filled her head. You’re so untouched; you’re like a cloud. Nobody brings you down. I want you to fly. I wish I were you because you always know what to say. I wish I were you because somehow nothing ever happens to you. I’ve never given you enough. I would give anything to make sure you stay free. I would give you the shirt off my back. I would give you the whole world. Lean on me; I will always fight for you. “...I miss you when you’re gone,” Westlie finally picked.

Morgan’s eyes gave the hint of a sparkle from the covers. “... Why do you think I always tell you not to miss me too much?”

“God you are insufferable.”

Morgan laughed.

“You’re the fucking worst. When do you leave again? I take it all back I won’t miss you at all.”

“Aw, is Westlie bitter I’m right?” 

“Wipe that smile off your face or I’ll peel it off for you.”

Morgan grinned. “I leave tomorrow; maybe the day after. Don’t worry, you won’t get me for long.”

Westlie groaned, rolling over onto her back so she didn’t have to look at that cheeky smile. “You know, I try to have a moment with you and you fucking ruin it like that.”

Morgan hesitated, then Westlie heard a slightly frustrated, but somewhat repentant sigh. “... Alright alright. ... It’s your birthday.”

“I’d love if you were nice on days other, in fact, than my birthday as well.”

“Absolutely not.” The coy grin was back, but it was a little softer now. She wasn’t inviting a fight, just responding how she did best, and Westlie sighed. 

“Anyway, I’m glad you only remember them. I want... our memories to make you happy.”

Morgan’s look softened into comfortable warmth and in the brief period of silence Westlie tried to commit it to memory. She leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together with a brief sly smile. It seemed like something a sweet, kind, real mother would do. In her drunken logic brain she wasn’t sure if she were trying to mock it or imitate it. She tried to make it exude warmth. “Please be careful on your next trip.”

Morgan snorted softly, still smiling. “I promise nothing.” There was a pause. “Westlie, I-” she hesitated for a long thirty seconds and Westlie knew that feeling of wanting to say something, but it not coming easy. “-I... miss you too.”

Westlie pulled back and smiled the warmest smile she could, hoping it said everything else. “Be safe,” she squeezed Morgan’s hands. “Come home to me, so we can do this again. ...Maybe I’ll take you out next time and get you absolutely sloshed.”

Morgan nodded with a soft happy look. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Please do.”

After a few more loving moments it was like a switch flipped and Morgan pushed herself up on her elbow, gently tapping Westlie’s nose before slipping out of the bed. “Goodnight, Wes.”

“Goodnight. ... Or good morning.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t even give me that. You’re such a whiner.”

Westlie curled under the covers, grinning, still relishing the soft warmth of the exchange. From habit, she flipped Morgan off and her sister laughed as she shut the door. 

#westlie #morgan #the adventures of the pyrrhus #adventures of the pyrrhus #the crew of the pyrrhus #pyrrhus #sunless skies #skyfarer rpg #whew boi did not intend another 7k but I love how it came out #I'm going to write another sappy ending as fanservice for myself but this is the canon one I think #or you know #as canon as my own blatant fanfic is #the only real thing to take from this is relia is the dumbest fucking mother ever #like #_so stupid_ #I cannot stress enough #as cruel as arthur is; relia is equally stupid #which is why neither westlie or morgan give a shit about her #I genuinely think those birthday parties are like 40% #of all the relevant interactions they've had with her. She's like a ghost who lives in the house doing her own thing on her own time #and if westlie passes her #she gives her an oh hello dear and that's relia's interaction with her daughter for another week