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hihomeghere · 2 months

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Fishing in the dark | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word Count : 1.3k (a little guy) Summary : You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota River. Warnings/tags : Cursing, unprotected piv, talk of nudity (both male and female), cursing, reader can swim, s3x in the river, established relationship, set in chapter 3

The Dakota River was now your favorite place to be at sunset. The cool breeze coming off the sparkling water, your body cushioned by the bed of grass. The way the setting sun cast a golden light over everything it touched.

Getting away from the gang for a while had been Arthur’s greatest idea yet. After all that mess in Valentine had led you to Clemens point. Sat on the east coast of Flat Iron lake, near the town of Rhodes. Getting eaten alive by mosquitos while the heat of the Scarlett Meadows sun beat down on you.

And although you thought maybe a room in Rhodes would have been a better way to keep each other company, you couldn’t beat this view.

Arthur stood on the shore, fishing pole in hand. His tall silhouette dark against the golden light, his shadow growing longer on the rocks. What a sight, every subtle flick of his wrist, his bicep tensing and he pulled on the pole. You didn’t even know why he was still fishing so late. He had already caught dinner, which you had prepared over a small fire. While along the shore you had picked some burdock root and common bulrush for camp, knowing that Miss Grimshaw could find some use for the plants. At long last the sun fell below the horizon, a sliver of burnt amber spreading across the sky before being enveloped by a dark blue. The moon slowly rose above you. A beautiful yellow spotlight peeking through the trees.

Arthur stood, still as a statue, as though he was carved of marble. A wicked thought entered your head, slowly you moved to unlace your boots. Pulling them off until you could dig your toes into the grassy floor beneath you. Then you untied the strings to your skirt. Letting the fabric fall, along with your shirt. Leaving you standing in only your chemise, and it wasn’t long before that was discarded as well.

Arthur had heard the slight rustling of fabric behind him, but he was honestly too preoccupied with the pole in his hands. Enjoying the quiet serenity of the river. That was until you ran butt ass naked into it.

“Darlin!” He yelled his eyes widening in shock as your laughter joined the sound of water splashing.

“Come on cowboy!” You called submerged to your waist, your breasts above the water for any passersby to see. Maybe it wasn’t your best idea yet, the freezing water chilling your bones.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He chuckled, unfortunately amused by your actions even though he knew he shouldn’t be.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You called back, teeth chattering by the sudden drop in temperature.

“It looks like you’re giving anyone that passes through a free peep show.” He called his hand resting on his gun belt as he not so casually adjusted himself. You stepped back further into the dark water until only your shoulders and up were visible.

“When did you become such a prude?” You chided a teasing smile on your lips.

“When someone could lay eyes on my woman.” He said laying down his pole, crossing his arms over his chest. You felt a shiver run down your spine, whether it was from his words or the cold water you couldn’t tell.

“Well get in here and claim your woman before someone else does!” You called, a shit eating grin spreading across your face.

Arthur sighed, looking down as the brim of his hat shielded most of his face from you. Your grin only grew as he unbuckled his gun belt, letting it fall to the ground. He pulled his suspenders off his broad shoulders. He shook his head, his own grin growing on his face as he began to pull off his clothes.

“You’re gonna get it girl.” He warned, his eyes taking on a dark haze. His lips pulling back into a smirk, looking down at you like prey. An electric shock of anticipation ran up your body as he finally pulled off the last layer, his cock springing up against his stomach. He stepped forward, wading into the water. “Jesus!” He yelped, a shiver running through him.

“It’s not that bad!” You called with a laugh.

“Not that-“ He shook his head, “Christ I can’t feel my toes.” He muttered swimming over to you, his arm wrapping around you pulling you close. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you held onto his shoulders

“Hey there.” You grin, watching the water droplets run down his face.

“Howdy.” He muses, you place your hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat against your palm.

“Still cold?” You ask sweetly.

“Very.” He chuckles.

“I think I could warm you up.” You say biting your lip.

“Please do.” He says softly as you lean forward. Your nose bumping against his as you stare him down. He leans forward pressing his lips against yours. His tongue swiping along your lower lip as he pressed you down onto his pelvis. Clenching around nothing as his cock bumped against the nub of your clit, a soft moan leaving your throat.

“I can feel that.” You said softly, biting your lip as you looked into his eyes.

“I’m sure you can.” His chest rumbling as he chuckled. He moved his hand from your waist and reached down between your legs. The tip of his length catching against your entrance. “Think you’re wet enough?” He teases, his teeth glinting in the moonlight as he smirks.

You bite back a rebuttal as he slips inside you with ease, he swallows your gasp as his mouth covers yours. Groaning into your mouth, a deep almost primal noise. One that sends pleasure shooting through your body. You whine as he pulls out slightly, only to press your body down onto his pelvis. His cock rubbing against that spot inside you.

He knows this dance like the back of his hand, how to make you tick, more specifically how to make you scream. The hand that’s not holding your hip with a vice like grip moves up your body, his hands splayed against your stomach. Before reaching up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple.

“Arthur.” You gasp, feeling him rut against you, growling against your neck like a wild animal.

“Feel so good darlin’.” He huffs against your neck, nipping and kissing as he continues his attack on your pussy. His cock thrusting deep strokes against your walls. Your body is buzzing, your toes curling as he brings you closer and closer to your peak. He can feel you flutter around him, his lips quirk up. He moves his hand down to between your legs, rubbing your clit.

You cry out, a pitiful noise as you cum around him. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your brows knit together as your jaw hangs open. He smirks, tilting his head back as a low, shit, leaves his mouth.

His hips start to stutter as he pounds into you, trying to reach his orgasm while you’re still working through yours. He’s quick behind you, his hands holding you so close against him you’re sure you’ll have bruises. He thrusts into you one last time, a choked groan rumbling in his chest. You hold onto him as his dick twitches inside of you. Painting your insides with his seed. You smile up at him lazily, watching his face contort in pleasure.

“Shit darlin’.” He huffs, his chest rising and falling rapidly against your own. The bite of the water is no longer a thought as his warm body presses against yours.

“You warm now, cowboy?” You tease brushing your nose against this neck, pressing a kiss over his pulse point.

“Very.” He chuckles, “But I’d like to get my beautiful girl out of these waters now.” He says grabbing a handful of your ass before throwing you over his shoulder. “I ain’t done with you yet.”

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rederiswrites · 6 days

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Went walkabout today with my morning coffee. There's an old saying, "The best fertilizer is the farmer's footstep." Straightened the mulch in the veggie garden where someone--probably a stray chicken--had thrown the grass clippings from the path onto the spinach plants. Replaced the strawberry plant that something dug up overnight. I started by counting. "One, two, three--why is there a gap?" Looked around, and sure enough, there was a plant a few feet away.

Waited too long to protect the trees in the orchard, and now a lot of new leaves and growing tips have been chewed off by deer. I'm trying not to dwell on how much that sucks, because I can't undo it. The trees will recover eventually, and meanwhile I've really got to get the fence rings made and placed.

On the flip-side, though I had thought last year's drought killed every bit of my considerable investment in pond plants, looks like I have one surviving blue flag iris

I promise.

These might be soft stem bulrushes. I can't tell because they haven't set seed and I can't find any photos from that part of the life cycle. I'm just hoping, because none of the grass otherwise will grow submerged like that.

And there was a little red squiggle that could just possibly be an Arrow Arum. Maybe. Fingers crossed. I really can't afford to just throw plants in there year after year with no result.

Gave Kratos the ram some grain. Tried to make sure Mimir the wether got some but he wasn't willing to brave Kratos' greed by coming to me. They both need to be caught so that I can roo Kratos, shear Mimir (who for some reason doesn't roo), and trim their hooves. Another pressing item on the to do list.

Finally found a spot for the sunchokes where they'll be against a structure on one side and mowed on the other side. They can spread along the entire south side of the storage container as far as I'm concerned. I'll get them in later, somehow in between everything else.

And then when I came around the front of the house, I discovered a bunch of sweet woodruff under the chickweed, and spent a few minutes sitting in the grass with my coffee and carefully detangled fragile weeds from fragile herbs. Found out that a single stem of Solomon's Seal survived the chickens last year, so I'll put my remaining stash of roots there today.

The garlic patch, and the kids working hard to clear a spot for strawberries last night.

#gardening #or farming #or whatever you want to call #*gestures vaguely*#all this

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deathbind · 12 days

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@gemshroud // starter call

❝WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF all this?❞ They’d stopped a moment in the wetlands to get their bearings. From afar, it had seemed welcoming. Dappled sunlight over warming water: a fair home for crooning frogs and gluttonous trees. They’d hardly set a foot on its paths before the illusion crumbled. Fetid was the only word that came to mind. Noxious, perhaps. He’d learned the hard way it was as unpleasant as it seemed. He had always loved bulrushes and had reached for one without thinking. In his defense, Meketi bulrushes didn’t typically hide spiked traps at their roots.

They’d bandaged it just fine, but that would teach them to keep out of the deeper waters. He leaned on a nearby rock as he talked, shifting weight off the injury. ❝That Auntie Ethel knows her way around a spell clearly, but that doesn’t mean she’s a danger to Mayrina. I don’t know; I feel like we're missing something.❞

#VERSE / PRAY FOR GOD WHERE ANGELS HAVE GONE.#gemshroud #his first time in a bog and meeting a hag #the whole group’s having a grand ole time huh

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tail-feathers · 1 year

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Kawaiisu Basket Bowl

The stepped radial design of this exquisitely-woven basketry bowl, with red bands of yucca root bounded by a double-border of black-dyed bulrush, is characteristic of the Kawaiisu basketweavers of the Tehachapi Valley region of Kern County, California.

#Kawaiisu #BASKET BOWL #SUPERIOR SUPER BOWL

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12colors-classpects · 4 months

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They head down to the riverbank, where hemlock and bulrush and meadowsweet and common reeds all push their tap roots deep and spread their finger roots wide, a shovel and pale in hand and dig deep past the top soil into the water-mud, filling their pale with loam and returning to their potters' workshop. Emptying the pale into the trough to dry and plopping a dried lump of loam from yesters-haul onto the potters wheel, they begin to spin-sculpt with a singular purpose: to change the lump, to mold its' form to match new purpose.

The centrifugal writhing thrashes against the sculptor's skilled hands rebelling against the imposition of a new purpose, desiring nothing less than to collapse. They choose either to tame the writhing and shape some utilitarian thing: a vase, a teapot, a bong, or let the writhing riot freely forming pointless tchotchke: a coiling octopus, a rude gesture, a surrealist's clock, and when satisfied they fire it to lock the changes in and make it into what they decided it was meant to be, or once disgusted squash it, to start fresh by returning it to

Clay

Narrative Function

The aspect of clay represents things both as they exist in their most undecided upon state; the means by which they grow, change, and are shaped; and the idea of form-fit mechanical purpose. Clay is found in both the raw material which is shaped, the sculptor, and the sculpture. It is also the terra firma plants pushing their roots into it so they can cling to the riverbank without being washed away, the nutrients they need to grow, and the seeds they came from and return to. In this way clay acts upon a narrative as both the raw potential and actualized purpose, and touches everything that facilitates the implicit transition betwixt: in two words, character growth.

Player Tendencies

Clay players tend go through the most growth in the story, starting out indecisive with a wide range of hobbies and skills that their bad at and growing into a more specific, more niche skill set at which they accel. It's the aspect of character growth, and much like the page class, it's general tends to shape out that Clay players mirror the generic page arc, starting low and aiming high, often through the process of specializing from a generic skill set to a specific niche.

Powers

Literal: The manipulation of clay, terracotta Metaphorical: Potential Rational: China, knickknacks, Irrational: Transmutation

#homestuck #classpect #fan aspect

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bestiarium · 2 years

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The Bunyip [Aboriginal mythology]

In the swamps of Australia, there lives a strange and dangerous beast, or at least according to the mythology of the local Aboriginals. Well, I mean, that’s probably true considering it’s Australia, but specifically I’m talking about the Bunyip, a mythical beast.

These creatures were very dangerous and wielded potent magical powers, such as cursing humans to transform into animals and freely changing the water level. It somewhat resembles a seal but its appearance is not set in stone, and what it looks like differs depending on who you ask. This is why modern depictions of the creature are mainly the product of their artists’ imaginations and can range from reptilian monsters to giant monstrous dogs. It also has a terrifying howl and devours any human being who dares to enter its domain.

One myth tells of a group of young Aboriginal men who set out one day to hunt. They were merry and happy as it was a warm sunny day, and they were laughing and talking without a fear in the world. They failed to find game, however, but did come upon a body of water with bulrush growing on the shore. This plant was edible and tasty, so the hunters gathered rushes to weave a basket so they could carry the bulrush roots. One of the men said that he had fishing equipment with him, and that they should try to catch some fish before returning home. Otherwise, the elders would surely laugh at them for doing women’s work if they had woven baskets and gathered plants all day.

The hunting party divided the tasks among themselves: some members gathered bait while others prepared the lines and hooks (which were made from kangaroo bone). When they began to fish, however, none of them could catch a thing. It was already dark, and they had to return back home to the village, when one lad suddenly felt something tug on his line: unbeknownst to the others, he had taken a piece of raw meat with him and used it as bait on his hook. To his surprise, the creature he had hooked was much stronger than him and he had to call his companions for help.

Together, they pulled the strange creature on land: it was a Bunyip. It resembled a cross between a seal and a young cow, but it had a long tail with broad fins for swimming. But the creature, despite its strength, was only a juvenile and soon started howling for its mother. The mother of the Bunyip crawled ashore and the men begged the fisher to release his catch. But the lad – he was the same man who complained about gathering plant roots and weaving baskets – insisted that he would take the young creature back to the village.

The men ran away with the Bunyip, but the mother of the creature didn’t give chase. Instead, they saw the water level rising steadily. When they reached the edge of the valley, they saw the entire forest was flooded. At last they reached the village, and all the people were panicking for they had seen the unnatural sudden flood. The young man who had caught the creature hugged his lover and told her “nobody in the village can climb as well as I can. Join me in that high tree, and we will escape from the water!” but before she could answer, both of them had turned into large black birds. When the lad looked around, he saw that the same fate had fallen on the other villagers: everyone had turned into black swans. Such was the curse of the Bunyip.

When the mother Bunyip reached her young, the two returned to their home in the water, and the water level receded again. But the people of the village never turned back into humans. Sometimes people still hear black swans talking to each other in a strange language that is forgotten by humans.

Source: Dunlop, W. and Holmes, T. V., 1899, Australian Folklore Stories, The Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, 28: p22-34. (image source 1: Kattang on Deviantart) (image source 2: Gerald Markham Lewis, 1935)

#Aboriginal mythology #aquatic creatures #monsters #mythology #myths #mythical creatures #folklore

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writingraven · 2 years

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Descriptors • Using the Senses

Greens & Herbs Scents

❁

⇝ agave

⇝ algae

⇝ aloe vera

⇝ ammophila

⇝ angelica

⇝ apple mint

⇝ arnica

⇝ artemisia

⇝ avocado

⇝ azolla

⇝ banana leaf

⇝ barley

⇝ basil

⇝ bay leaf

⇝ betel leaf

⇝ black currant

⇝ borage

⇝ borneol

⇝ bran

⇝ buchu

⇝ buckwheat

⇝ bulrush

⇝ burdock

⇝ cactus

⇝ calamus

⇝ calycanthus

⇝ cannabis

⇝ capitiú

⇝ celery

⇝ chicory

⇝ chive

⇝ cilantro

⇝ clary sage

⇝ coca

⇝ creosote bush

⇝ crithmum

⇝ davana

⇝ deer tongue grass

⇝ earl grey tea

⇝ fern

⇝ flouve

⇝ fo ti

⇝ gajumaru banyan

⇝ galbanum

⇝ genmaicha

⇝ ginkgo

⇝ ginseng

⇝ grass

⇝ green sap

⇝ gromwell

⇝ guao

⇝ hay

⇝ henna

⇝ hops

⇝ horseweed

⇝ immortelle

⇝ ivy

⇝ jambu

⇝ juniper

⇝ katrafay

⇝ katsura

⇝ khella

⇝ kunzea

⇝ laminaria

⇝ lantana

⇝ linaloe berry

⇝ lovage root

⇝ marjoram

⇝ matcha tea

⇝ mate

⇝ melilot

⇝ mimosa leaf

⇝ mint

⇝ mistletoe

⇝ nettle

⇝ nut grass

⇝ oak leaf

⇝ orchid leaf

⇝ oregano

⇝ palm leaf

⇝ palmarosa

⇝ pandanus

⇝ parsley

⇝ peach leaf

⇝ pear leaf

⇝ polygonum

⇝ portulaca

⇝ reed

⇝ rice

⇝ rosemary

⇝ roseroot

⇝ rue

⇝ rumex

⇝ rye

⇝ sage

⇝ sansevieria

⇝ satureja

⇝ seaweed

⇝ shiso

⇝ sideritis

⇝ silk vine

⇝ snake plant

⇝ spinach

⇝ sundew

⇝ tarragon

⇝ thistle

⇝ thyme

⇝ tobacco

⇝ tulsi

⇝ valerian

⇝ vine

⇝ wheat

⇝ wintergreen

⇝ woodfuff

⇝ wormwood

⇝ yarrow

source

#writing #story ideas #writing tips #characterisation #smell #scent #plants and herbs #greens

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drhoz · 13 days

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#2143 - Apotropina sp. - Frit Fy

A fair-sized genus of Chloropids found worldwide. The genus is not well studied - most species are known from single specimens. One paper says there's at least 80 valid species worldwide, and 22 in Australia.

Many Frit Fly larvae feed on grasses, edges, or bulrushes, and some are cereal pests, but others are found in rotting wood, dead plants, fungi, or preying on spider eggs, mantis ootheca, the nests of locusts, or root grubs. Two genera, Liohippelates in the Americas and Siphunculina in parts of Asia, are particularly annoying for the way the adults swarm eyes and nostrils, not least because they're known vehicles for some very serious infections. In Australia one genus, Batrachomyia, is an endoparasite of frogs.

Tumbarumba, NSW

#chloropidae #frit fly #australian fly #tumbarumba #Apotropina

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newsbuzzfinderblog · 2 years

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The Wetlands Are Drowning

Schoenoplectus americanus, or the chairmaker’s bulrush, is a common wetland plant in the Americas, and it has an existential problem. It has chosen to live in a place where it is always at risk of being drowned. Like all plants, the bulrush requires oxygen to produce energy. One solution is obvious: Send shoots skyward like straws to suck down oxygen to the roots. But the bulrush also employs a…

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hemantjimin · 2 years

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The Wetlands Are Drowning

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#biology #carbon #carbon dioxide #climate #climate change #earth science #ecology #environment #plants

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littleeyesofpallas · 2 years

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it continues...

Cilan, Chili, and Cress are named Dent, Pod, and Corn in Japanese, referring to Dent Corn, Pod Corn, and... just Corn... I used generic looking sweetcorn in the picture because I don't think i can specifically find the other two pictured together in the same image.

Lenora's name is Aloe. Aloe is Aloe... I don't know what else to say about that...

Burgh's name is Arty, ostensibly taken from Artichoke? The fact that they tried to do some of these from English makes it all a little more vague.

Elesa's name is Kamitsure, and kamitsure[加密列] is the Japanese name for Chamomile.

Clay's Japanese name is Yakon like yacón, the root vegetable. His ancestor Lian's name is Kikui in Japanese, which appears to reference kikuimo[菊芋] the Jerusalem Artichoke, also a root vegetable; and Lian was taken from Helianthus tuberosus, the scientific name of the Jerusalem Artichoke.

Skyla's Japanese name is Fuuro, from fuuro-so[風露草] the Japanese name for Geraniums. Similar to the shape and color of her hair tie.

Brycen's name is Hachiku like hachiku[淡竹]: "Black bamboo."

Drayden's name is Shaga from shaga[射干] the Japanese Iris, known in English as the Butterfly Flower or Fringed Iris, which is of course a play on...

...Iris's name being iris. So no matter which game you played, Pokemon Black or White, your Dragon gym leader was named after an iris flower.

Cheren actually is Cheren's Japanese name, but wasn't named after a flower. He and Bianca(Bel) were just named "Black" and "White" respectively.

Roxie's name is Homika and homika[ホミカ](no kanji) is the Japanese word for Nux Vomica, aka Strychnine. A little on the nose but obviously very appropriate for a poison gym leader.

Marlon's name is Shizui from shizui[シズイ] which is apparently the name of Schoenoplectus nipponicus, but also known as Makino, or a type of Bulrush in English. No idea why it doesn't have a name in kanji, given that the scientific name suggests it's from Japan in the first place. It's a wetlands tall grass, appropriate for a water trainer, although you'd think something more coastal or salt water adjacent would better suit him.

Shauntal's name is Shikimi and shikimi[樒] is Japanese Star Anise. Bundles of the leaves are used in traditional buddhist funeral services.

Marshal's name is Renbu, referencing renbu[蓮霧]: "wax apples," which are a homonym with renbu[練武]: "marital arts training."

Grimsley's name is Giima, and Giima[ギーマ] is a specific species of Bilberry/Blueberry

Caitlin's name in Japanese is Cattleya(Katorea[カトレア]) from the Cattelya Genus of orchid. Only tangentially related, but her butler Darach from the Sinnoh battle frontier's name was Kokuran, and kokuran[黒蘭]: "Black orchid," opposite Cattleya's white orchid motif. Yet his ancestor's name is Sharon[シャロン], presumably referring to the "Rose of Sharon," a type of hibiscus.

[Kanto] [Johto] [Hoenn] [Sinnoh] [Unova] [Kalos] [Alola] [Galar] [Hisui] [Champs] [Paldea] [Paldea2] [Paldea3] [Teams] [Misc.]

#pokemon #unova #cilan #chili #cress #cheren #lenora #roxie #burgh #elesa #clay #skyla #brycen #marlon #drayden #iris #shauntal #marshall #grimsley #caitlin #pokemeta i guess

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bm-americas · 2 years

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Basket Tray, Brooklyn Museum: Arts of the Americas

Size: 3 7/8 × 15 9/16 × 15 1/2 in. (9.8 × 39.5 × 39.4 cm) mount (with stand): 12 × 15 1/2 × 12 in. (30.5 × 39.4 × 30.5 cm) mount (deck rod): 8 1/2 × 15 1/2 × 15 in. (21.6 × 39.4 × 38.1 cm) Medium: Willow, sedge root, bulrush root

https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/130102

#brooklynmuseum #artsoftheamericas #museumarchive

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embersoftheforest · 3 years

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[id: Drawings of the four Clan camps including labels of where dens and the fresh-kill piles are, described below.]

We wanted to show you our interpretation of the camps of each of the four Clans in EOTF - RiverClan's island, ShadowClan's dell, ThunderClan's ravine, and WindClan's hollow.

KEY

A - Apprentices Den D - Dirtplace E - Elders Den L - Leaders Den M - Medicine Den N - Nursery P - Fresh-kill pile W - Warriors Den Arrows represent entrances (unless they can enter from anywhere)

RIVERCLAN

RiverClan's island is part of a forming oxbow lake. Over the years the island has changed, and it is currently close to being cut off by the river. A wall of reeds keeps their camp hidden from intruders who cannot swim, while a large willow tree gives them shade from the sun. The medicine den is within the willow's roots, where a pool of water has also been. The elders den and nursery are both under shrubs (dog rose, known to the cats as dawn-rose), next to the leaders den amongst the bulrushes. The fresh-kill pile is on a rock also used for Clan announcements, while the warriors and apprentices build dens from reeds and more to nest with their kin. The shallow water by the leaders den is used for the kits to splash in.

SHADOWCLAN

ShadowClan lives within a dell between two high walls of mud. Their nursery is forged from old yew trees still degrading after many seasons, the walls coated with mud and dirt so kits don't lick the poisonous yew bark. There are two warriors dens, one beneath ferns and another under a fallen tree reinforced with branches. The elders den is beneath a bramble bush next to the ferns where the apprentices den is, which leans against the medicine den formed between two rocks. Under a tree's roots lies the leaders den, the tree said to fall down if the camp were to be attacked from their entrance. The Clanrock sits between the leaders den and nursery, with the fresh-kill pile placed in the middle. ShadowClan's dirtplace is foul enough to protect the other entrance to their camp, though they also use a collection of rocks to block the slope there.

THUNDERCLAN

ThunderClan's camp was made long ago in the remnants of a riverbed that leads to the ravine. Their entrance is the most well-guarded with a gorse tunnel, as the thick undergrowth and trees around their camp keep most intruders out. The leaders den is coupled with the Highrock, where the leader may jump or climb up to make announcements. Across from the leaders den is the warriors den under thick bush cover. Their den is next to the ferns that cover the apprentices den, which stops at the stump where they eat by the fresh-kill pile. The nursery is the most fortified den, with a bush covered in brambles and checked often to patch holes. The dirtplace sits between the nursery and medicine cat den, with gorse and brambles entwined to protect it, though a hole is left for emergencies. The medicine cat den sits at the very end of the camp, well-situated to attend to the nursery and the elders whose den is made from a hollow log.

WINDCLAN

The moorland has more cover than the other Clans expect, and their camp is not as open as others think. While they have a large, open slope that slips down to their dens, they have a natural barrier of gorse hiding their camp from intruders. Most cats sleep in the open when warm enough, though rabbit holes and a badger sett dot the slope to make dens when warriors and apprentices need shelter, with one large rabbit burrow kept for the leaders den. The medicine den sits beneath the gorse next to the highest wall, within pawsteps of the Hunting Stones. The elders den and nursery are both covered by the gorse too, with a primary dirtplace on top of the hollow's wall amongst the gorse.

#itw #eotf info #worldbuilding #warrior cats #wc art #thunderclan #warrior cats rewrite #wc au #wc designs #warrior cats art #warrior cats clans #riverclan #shadowclan #windclan

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ignorantarmiesclashbynight · 3 years

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Whumptober 2021 Day 11: just keep swimming | drowning

It ain't his fault the stupid kid can’t swim.

In fact, the thought that he might not be able to doesn’t even cross his mind.

Thing is, Arthur grew up on a wagon, and if you wanted to survive you followed the river: water for drinkin', for cookin', for washin'. And in between, for playin'. His mama used to joke that he swam before he walked, as natural to him as a fish, so he just assumed it was something everyone could do.

Ain't his fault it’s one more thing the kid’s bad at. Little Johnny golden boy who constantly needs Arthur to clear up his latest disaster. Dutch and Hosea think it’s funny, until the kid gets caught doing a little light shoplifting in the general store and ends up getting chased through the town they've spent two weeks casing to rob. So they task Arthur with keeping the boy out of the way for the afternoon, which means he gets to miss out on the job, too. And he can’t even hang around camp because the little demon managed to put three whole live frogs into the coffee pot and he thinks Grimshaw might actually murder his scrawny ass this time.

So it’s just Arthur and the petulant twelve year old, sitting aimlessly by the river, far away from anyone and everyone, where the only harm he can do is scaring off the ducks.

They've been there all of two minutes and the kid’s already pestering him for something to eat. As if his satchel is some bottomless receptacle of snacks for a teenager who can somehow put away as much as a draft horse.

He tries to teach the boy something useful. Points out burdock root and sage and milkweed; collects bulrushes for the horses, mushrooms for the stew. Even tries making a fishing line out of some string he finds in his pocket, but the kid is only interested in throwing rocks into the river like he’s trying to hurt it.

"How long we gotta stay here?" John gripes.

Arthur sighs, thinking just the same thing. "Long as it takes."

The boy scowls in the general direction of the town—where Dutch and Hosea are busy concocting a scheme to empty every safe in every backroom within a single day.

"We should be with 'em, helpin'," John says, sour as a crabapple.

"Yeah? Because you're so helpful, gettin' yourself into trouble all the damn time?" He shakes his head. "Got a lot to learn before you can ‘help’…"

Arthur flicks a bit of pondweed off his boot. He's aiming for the kid but it goes wide and lands on the pebbles at his feet.

John scowls at him, even so. "When you gonna teach me to shoot? And not with a pistol. I mean with a rifle."

Arthur lets out a throaty laugh. "Oh sure, I can see that plan going just dandy. And besides, you're too small. Knock-back'd throw your shoulder right out of its socket."

"Would not."

"Would too."

"I shot a gun before, you know."

"I know." Arthur rolls his eyes. Flicks another stripe of pondweed at him.

"Shot a man before, too."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard the story a hundred times. Go tell the fish."

He still isn't sure if it's true or not; that John killed a man before he was ten years old. It makes him a little sick to think of, and the boy's so full up with desperate bravado he figures even if it ain't a lie, it likely happened a lot different to the way he tells it.

A pause. The kid's scowl deepens. "Bet I'm a better shot than you."

Arthur gives him a tolerant smirk. "I’ll tell you what. How 'bout I get you one of them little toy bows and arrows? Then you can show us all your infamous deadly aim. Maybe catch a few squirrels and make yourself useful for a change..."

Kid’s scoots away, up to his feet, kicking stones into the shallows. "Shut up."

"I will, when you stop being a brat."

"Why don’t you stop being such an ass-faced know-it-all?"

A laugh bursts out of him. "Ass-faced? I know I ain't much to look at, but have you seen yourself lately? Filthy as a dog with the mange. I’m surprised Grimshaw ain’t dunked you in the dish bucket yet…"

“She can try,” the kid growls darkly, which makes Arthur laugh even harder, which makes the kid even more furious.

“What you gonna do, bite her?” Arthur snorts. “Though I wouldn’t put it past you. When the hell you gonna join the human world, huh? Or should we set you free to roam the wilds instead?”

He scoops out a particularly slimy bit of pondweed from under a rock and this time his aim is true, sticking to the side of the kid’s face with a satisfying slap.

“Fuck you, Morgan!” John snarls, ripping off the weed and tossing it back at him. It misses, by several feet, so he snatches up a stone instead, aiming for Arthur's head.

He dodges it easily, scrambling to his feet as the boy grabs another. He’s enjoying himself for the first time all day and drops into a defensive stance, ready to teach the little shit a lesson.

“Maybe I’ll do Grimshaw a favour ‘n’ give you a bath right now...” he grins, darting forward and grabbing the boy by the scruff of his collar.

The kid struggles wildly but Arthur’s other arm wraps all the way around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He’s just a bony, skinny thing, still catching up on years of scavenging for scraps, but Dutch says the rough-housing’s good for him. Says it’s what brothers do.

John’s screaming every curse he knows, kicking back at his shins, wriggling like an eel, but Arthur hangs on, taking a few staggering steps towards the river. He was only planning on dumping the boy into the shallows—make him ride home with wet breeches—but he’s forgotten just how dirty the kid fights when’s cornered and suddenly there’s a sharp pressure on his forearm as John sinks his teeth into him.

Arthur gapes at the sight for a second, before the pain of it hits—and the outrage.

Alright, if that’s how you want it…

And with a wide, swinging arc, he tosses the kid right into the river.

Ain’t his fault it’s deeper than it looks.

He thought it’d only be about waist height but the boy plunges into the water with a comical sploosh and the current sweeps him into the middle of the river, where it runs fastest. There’s a brief flail of limbs, a garbled yell, and John goes under. And he doesn’t come back up again.

Shit.

Arthur wades out after him, scanning the water, seething in a breath at the shock at how cold it is, the strength of the current just a few feet in. It looked so placid from the bank.

He’s pretty sure the kid is just playing a trick—‘bout to pop back up behind him and leap onto his back, shove a handful of pondweed down his shirt or something. But he’s silently counting in his head and a long ten seconds go by, then twenty, thirty, and he isn’t sure just how long a person can hold their breath for. Even for a prank.

And then, from way downstream there comes an almighty splashing. A darting glimpse of dark hair above the surface before it’s gone again.

Shit, shit, shit.

Arthur launches himself into the water, legs kicking hard behind him, arms scything through the surface as he closes the distance, stroke by stroke, trying to keep his eyes on the spot where he last saw the kid. But there’s no sign of him, just the surging rapids and the squall of the water, deafening in his ears.

The panic grips at him but he doesn't have time for it, drawing in the deepest breath he can and jack-knifing into a dive.

The current is vicious beneath the water, defying the laws of gravity, buffeting him every which way. He can't see a damn thing through the churned up mud. Can barely control his own body. And it’s all he can do to right himself and kick back up to the surface before he runs out of air.

He flounders for a moment. It’s all happening too fast. He didn’t mean for this. Didn’t want this. He'd only meant to give the kid a fright. Teach him a lesson. But not this...

His next breath judders on the way in but he holds it tight and ducks back under.

This time he doesn’t try to fight the force of the flow, letting it take him where it wants, peering through the murky water with a focus so intense it makes his head feel fit to burst. The need to breathe burns in his chest but he can't give up; knows he's running out of time.

And there, maybe ten feet away, a spiralling figure, limbs waving like a rag doll.

Arthur’s stomach clenches, expelling all the air in his lungs—some in-built reflex to yell for the kid—but all that comes out is bubbles.

He reaches him in a few kicks. Grabs him round the middle and heaves upward, cursing the slowness of moving underwater, every second deadly.

He breaks the surface with a gasping breath but the river’s deep here and now he’s fighting the churning current with a limp body to hold onto. He doesn’t have time to check on the kid—it’s all he can do to keep his legs moving, reaching sideways, one heavy stroke at a time, his other arm clinging around the kid’s skinny chest. And he’s never been so grateful to feel ground under his feet as his boots finally scuff the riverbed.

He drags the boy out by his armpits and lays him out on the bank, collapsing beside him, shivering with adrenaline. For a long, terrible second, the kid lies still and pale, and Arthur can hear the blood pounding in his own ears like the relentless rush of the river, but then water spurts out of John’s mouth and nose and he’s choking more than breathing but he’s alive.

Relief and anger and a hysterical edge of laughter flood Arthur’s chest as he turns the boy on his side, thumping him on the back until he pukes up half the river.

It's a long while before the kid is able to haul in a clean breath and when he does it still comes out coughing. Maybe a bit of sobbing, too, though he tries to hide it, curling in on himself, hair plastered to his face.

Arthur keeps on patting his back, slower and slower as the kid’s convulsions calm to a trembling, until he’s just holding a hand there, not quite wanting to let go yet.

“Scared the shit out of me, kid,” he murmurs, letting out the nervous laugh that’s been bubbling up inside of him.

John rolls over, pulling himself up to sitting on shaky arms, and turns to fix Arthur with a dark-eyed stare, more furious than he’s ever seen him.

The boy shoves him, the flat of his hand slamming into his chest. He does it again, rising up onto his knees to get more force behind it. Arthur tips backwards, catching himself on his hands, leaving himself open to the attack he can see coming, but he doesn’t bother to stop it. Lets it come, the way it needs to.

And then John’s on top of him with a ragged war cry, grabbing fistfuls of Arthur’s shirt and slapping him around the shoulders, the head, the face. And Arthur lets him, until the kid’s hands curl into fists and he lands a staggering blow against his ear, sending the world spinning.

He reckons he deserved it, but there’s a limit.

He snatches the boy’s wrists out of the air and holds them still. “Alright, enough. I’m sorry.”

The rest of John’s body keeps fighting, writhing in his grip, his face screwed up with blind rage. “You son of a bitch…”

“Yeah, I know. I’m an ass-faced bastard.”

Arthur hangs on, lets the kid wear himself out. And he does, a few moments later, sagging boneless and heavy with the weight of his water-logged clothes.

Arthur lets him go—but slowly, just in case he’s got a second wind in him. “I fished you out, didn’t I?” he offers.

John slumps back down onto the bank with a sullen humph. Won’t even look at him. And for a second, Arthur sees both the boy he is and the man he’ll become—how vulnerable and how fierce.

He sits beside him with a long sigh.

“I didn’t know you couldn’t…” he starts, gesturing jerkily at the river. “I mean, I can teach you if you–”

“Shove it up your ass, Arthur.”

“Alright then.”

He shuts his mouth. Maybe he’s been a little hard on the kid, lately. Maybe John's just looking for his place, trying to be one of the men, trying to prove himself. Arthur was a different kind of twelve-year-old—more scared than ferocious—but maybe there are different kinds of showing fear, too. Maybe acting like a rabid raccoon is one of ‘em.

They sit in silence for a couple minutes, synchronising their shivering, watching the tumble of the river go by. He resists the urge to put an arm around the boy. Too soon for that yet, he thinks. But his arm flexes with the thought of it and he frowns in surprise as a bloom of fresh red seeps through his shirtsleeve. It stings and he can’t remember why. And then he does, pulling back the fabric to reveal a neat little curve of toothmarks, deep enough to draw blood.

He stares at it for a second. Hears a little snort of amusement from beside him.

“You bit me,” he says dazedly. “You really are feral.”

When he looks sideways, the kid’s grinning. Arthur gives him a little shunt with his shoulder and John shunts him back in a peaceable kind of way. The way brothers do.

“Least Grimshaw won’t make me take a bath now,” the boy says with a shrug.

Arthur grunts and pokes at his bruised forearm. “Yeah, well. You’re welcome.”

And just when he thinks perhaps they’ve reached a tentative truce, a cold clump of pondweed comes slithering down the back of his collar…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I mean, how could I pass this one up? Because it is 100% canon that Arthur lobbed John into a river at least once.

Also on AO3! Requests more than welcome (prompt list is here)

#whumptober2021 #no.11 #just keep swimming #drowning #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #fic #near death experience #biting #arthur morgan #john marston #whump

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captaincanute · 2 years

Text

Charlie goes to camp

When I was just a little boy I asked my mommy, “What will I be? Will I be handsome? Will I be rich? Here’s what she said to me: Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see. Que sera, sera. 2

Finally! After hours of travelling we were here! I had been following the road map (I love maps!) down highway 23 and after we finally turned I pressed my face against the window, watching the boring farms go by, until the road got windier and hillier and I wondered whether each lake we passed was “it”. Then we turned onto gravel and I started bouncing. Less than a mile to go! When dad stopped the station wagon there was a giant tree in front of us. I was out like a shot and up the tree as fast as my legs could go. I could see the lake from here. It was bigger than ours. I could see other kids on the swings and walking around. Lots of the kids were down by the lake. Mom and Dad took Timmy and Beth to a table and talked to some people there. I think he gave them some money. Dad gave my suitcase to a man and pointed at me. I waved. Then Mom came back and shouted goodbye and everyone got in the car and left so I waved again.

It was nice in the tree. I could see everything. Behind the camp there was a big park with hundreds of people on the beach or boating on the lake. 1 Past the camp field was a large field. It looked like the cow pasture across the road at home only marshier. There were probably lots of snakes and frogs there! Turtles too. I could put my boots on and catch them. I could let them go in the lake. I could cut some bulrushes with my knife and sword fight with the cattails. And there were no kids over there. That’s where I was going to play.

The road that my family left on went through a forest. The road was longer than from our house to White Lake Road. If I had my bike I could explore it. Who knows what I will see. There would be lots of animals in the forest. I could catch a fox!

The man my dad talked to came over to my tree and looked up. I could see him but I don’t think he could see me! “Charlie, come down now”.

“Why?”

“Because you might fall.”

“No I won’t, I climb twees all the time!”

“That’s what your father said…. I am going to be your counselor at camp this year so I need to know where you are and that you are safe”

“I’m safe up hewe. I’m on a big bwanch. I’m gonna catch a fox!”

“….” “You shouldn’t climb a tree unless I am there with you. Come on, It’s time to go to the cabin and meet the other campers. They’ve all taken their stuff to the cabin already.”

He was an adult so I listened and shinnied down the tree. He gave me my suitcase and I followed him, dragging it along, bumping over the roots and ground. After a few steps he decided to carry my suitcase for me. We went over to the playground and he called 4 other boys to come back to the cabin for introductions. They were about my age. They looked nice.

The cabin was very small. The man put my suitcase on the bed by the door. He sat down on the bed opposite. He had a little closet next to his bed. The other beds all had stuff on them. The boys climbed on to the bunks. I didn’t know what to do.

“Sit down on your bunk, Charlie, and we will do introductions, then we can go swimming!” He looked at the boy above him. “Can you go first, Robbie?”

“I’m Robbie. I’m nine. I like to play baseball. I’m on the Orioles. We’re good. I am going into grade four. I was at camp last year. I like when we sleep in a tent. I come to camp every summer. I want to play baseball and archery. “

The other three boys said their names too. The only one I remember is Frank. Because he talked last. And he is an indian. My uncle’s name is Frank. I have an aunt who is an indian but she doesn’t live here. She lives with Uncle Oren and my cousin, Shawn. Shawn is an indian too. He’s younger than me but fun to play with. They live in Canada. Frank didn’t say very much. He had the other bottom bunk. He talked very quietly. He looked like he didn’t want to be at camp either.

Now everyone was looking at me. I was still standing by the open door.

“My name is Chawlie Wowe and my dad plays baseball second base and pitchew fow the Genewals and I just tuwned eight last week so I can come to camp because befowe my biwthday I wasn’t old enough to come and I am going into gwade thwee but my bwothew has to go to gwade one again because we got sick last yeaw so he is being held back and I want to sleep on the top bunk because I have been wanting to come to camp since school was done and sleeping in a tent would be fun but not now evewything is wuined cause I can’t have a top bunk and you said I can’t climb twees and I climb twees all the time at home and I only fell and bwoke my awm one time and had to go to the hospital again but it is good now and I am cawefullew so you should let me and I weally want to sleep in the top bunk.”

Everyone just stared at me. I was so sad. Nobody did anything. Nobody cared. I started to cry. I didn’t want to be a baby so I ran. I can’t run very fast but I can run far. I was going to run very far away.

1 I don’t actually remember noticing the state park from the tree. Or it was not interesting enough so I forgot seeing it.

2 My mom loved musicals and had all the records. My dad listened to Johnny Cash.

#summer camp #nuerodiversity #child pov #semi autobiographical #first fic

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