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mydearestshinobu · 3 years

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(A/N): I accidentally posted this earlier and that was a mess.

↬ Modern AU! Idol! Shinobu x GN!reader

Warning(s): none

You didn't consider yourself much of a traveler. It wasn't that you were against the idea of leaving your hometown, it was just... why would you want to? Your hometown is great. Delicious food, great friends, and everything else you could need. You like the simple life, and you couldn't imagine growing up anywhere else.

That didn't mean you were against leaving your hometown. It just meant that you had a hard time getting used to the big city. Shibuya City was a strange place for you the first time you went there. You remembered being a little kid and squeezing your dad's hand because you were scared of getting lost in the crowds of people walking by.

You got over it as time passes by, of course. Good thing too. Shinobu loved shopping in Shibuya City, and she'd always ask you to carry her bags.

Shibuya City was strange, but nothing you couldn't you used to. But Tokyo? Tokyo?! That was hard to get used to. It was the biggest city in Japan, and everytime you visited it felt like you were stepping into a whole new world. But this was where Shinobu's latest concert was being held, and you'd be damned if you weren't going to support your girlfriend of four years.

Hehe. Girlfriend. The very thought brought a proud grin to your face. You and Shinobu started dating before her debut. It was hard at first, with busy schedules, you almost break up with her to achieve her dream, of course, Shinobu didn't allow it, she said she rather quit her career than to break up with you. While that memory wasn't a happy one, it led you and Shinobu to become who they are now.

You blinked as you felt something on your cheek, and you shook your head, shooing away whatever was poking in your cheek. "...What the?"

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Love"

"Huh?" You blinked, staring at your girlfriend. Shinobu rested her head on her hand as she smiled at you from across the table. She had a teasing smile on her lips.

"What?"

"You were staring at me for like ten minutes. Are you alright?" She asked, reaching for your forehead.

You smiled at her, a pink blush forming on your cheeks. Had you been staring at her again? "I'm fine. Just thinking."

"About?" Shinobu gives you a confused look. You thought about lying, but one look at Shinobu's eyes shot down that idea. You never were much of a liar, anyways. You swallowed your pride." I was just thinking about us. How lucky I am and your concert..."

Shinobu's eyes widened for a moment before she did that cute snort and giggle thing that she only did around you because her producers didn't want fans to know that the famous idol snorted. She laughed at you but before you could challenge her on it, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on your lips.

Your face turns red in embarrassment. You didn't know if it was all girls or just Shinobu who had this power. It was like you could be doing or feeling almost anything, but one kiss from Shinobu would be enough to change you into a blushing, gibbering idiot.

And this time was no exception. She kissed you, and when she pulled away, your cheeks were the same shade as a ripe tomato. You opened your mouth, stuttering an answer as she laughed again. "You're so adorable, (Y/N). I love you~"

"I- I Love you too Shino," you said, pulling up your collar on your leather jacket trying to hide your scarlet cheeks. Shinobu giggled again, before glancing at her phone. "We should probably get going. We've only got 3 hours before I've got to get ready for the concert." You nodded, and you reached into your pockets. You paid for the coffee, before leaving a little extra as a tip. The couple then stood up and waved goodbye to the owner of the store with a quick smile.

You and Shinobu soon returned to the area where the concert was being held of. The two stepped out into the Tokyo metro system with smiling faces and warm cheeks.

The two held each other's hand as they walked, only to find themselves encountered by a familiar foe.

The paparazzi.

Several men and women were running to the couple, cameras in hand. They began to take pictures of the two as your smile turned into a harsh glare. Fans were one thing. Packs of reporters were something else entirely.

You tried to pull Shinobu away from the pack of reporters, but they quickly surrounded the pair, bombarding them with questions. Shinobu, to her credit, tried to answer as many as she could.

"Shinobu-san! What brings you to Tokyo?!"

"Oh, well, I have a concert and—"

"I heard tonight will be your last concert, is that true?!"

"Well—"

"Is this your partner?! How do you deal with allegations that your partner is just using you for fame?!"

That statement ticked you off. You growled, glaring at the woman that had asked that question. You opened your mouth, only to fall silent as you noticed a vein popping on Shinobu's forehead.

Oh no.

"My (Y/N) wouldn't do that. Shinobu kept her voice firm, it was short but you could hear the fire brimming right under the surface. You smiled in pride as she pulled you along, trying to ignore the pestering questions. They walked onto the stairs, but still, the reporters followed them.

"What do you have to say about allegations that you slept with your producer to get where you are?!"

Shinobu came to a stop and signed, placing a hand on her forehead. "(Y/N)"

"Right." You rolled your sleeves and glared at the reporters. During the times she wasn't an idol, she would shout at the person who annoyed her but she has a reputation to uphold. "Alright. Leave us alone or else." You pointed at the emergency fire extinguisher behind them. "Or else, I'm gonna throw a fire extinguisher at you!"

The group of reporters stepped back, each of them shocked at your glare.

"Leave my girlfriend alone. You want to talk to her, go to a press conference! Now leave us alone!" You and Shinobu marched out of the pack of reporters, and they let them.

"Thank you for that, I almost shouted there" Shinobu whispered once they were far enough away. "No problem. Are you okay?"

"Yes, thanks to you." She clung to your arm, squeezing it as they walked out of the station. "I love you." The frown on your face faded away and you smiled back at her. "Love you too."

Shinobu stood in the darkness of the stage, the only light being the flash of cameras and a purple lightstick swaying around within the audience.

There must have been thousands of people out there. Maybe a million. You thought. You stand on the sidelines, hidden behind curtains as you watch your girlfriend shine.

A lot of people talked about the kind of music Shinobu sang nowadays. It was still the upbeat pop she was known for, but there was more heart to it. More of Shinobu was in the song than ever before. You really loved seeing her on the stage. There was a rush in her eyes, a glowing spark as she danced and sang.

The stage came to life, lights shining down on Shinobu as she danced with her group of backup dancers. The music pounded in the air as she greeted Tokyo with wide, open arms.

"Hello~ Tokyo! Are you ready?!"

The thousand people screamed in return, cheering for Shinobu as she began to sing and dance, moving her body on the stage like she was born for life. You lean against a wall as you admired her.

She looked so happy. She moved her body with expert precision like it was her body controlling the music. Her moves were a mix of the quick kicks and spins of breakdancing, with the elegance of ballet. Shinobu was doing all of this while singing.

That woman was amazing. There was no other word for it.

You notice a slight pause in her step, and she turned her head to smile at you. She lifted up a hand, aiming her index finger at you, before pulling the trigger with a wink. She giggled, returning to her dance number as the song continued to blare, and the audience tried to dance along. Even you couldn't help but tap your feet to the beat as Shinobu sang. You just relax and let the music sweep him away as you stared at the woman of your dream.

#shinobu kochō #demon slayer shinobu #kny x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #shinobu x reader #kocho shinobu x reader #kny shinobu #shinobu kochou #kimetsu shinobu #shinobu imagines #kochou shinobu #i should be more active #🦋aila writes

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worryinglyinnocent · 3 years

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Fic: Haven (24/50)

Summary: They say Resembool is a haven, and they’re right. Lush pastures, quaint country town, farmers’ markets on Saturdays: a bucolic paradise.

But it’s more than that. Resembool is a haven for the runaways, the deserters, the people who don’t want to be found…

The Resembool community knows there’s something odd about Hohenheim, but they’re not going to let that stop them helping him out. This is Resembool after all, a place where no one has to hide and neighbours help neighbours, be they building a fence, chasing a sheep, or trying to save the country from an evil they inadvertently helped release centuries ago…

Or: A series of slices of life in an AU in which Hohenheim never leaves, and several broken state alchemists find hope and home in Resembool.

Rated: T

Haven

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18][19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [AO3]

Summary: A traumatised young alchemist on the verge of a nervous breakdown leaves Ishval in the middle of the night. Through a mixture of providence and sheer stubbornness, Roy Mustang finds his way to Resembool entirely by accident.

Characters: Roy, Hohenheim, Trisha

Content Warning: Suicidal thoughts and PTSD.

I kind of… broke Roy a bit here. Don’t worry. He’ll get better.

Roy Mustang was eighteen years and two days old when he was deployed to Ishval as a very newly-licensed state alchemist.

He was not ready for what happened after that.

He knows that if he’d been able to follow the path that he’d originally set out - enrol in the military academy and graduate there, complete his apprenticeship under Berthold Hawkeye within the normal length of time instead of getting swept up in the whirlwind of fast-tracked licensing - then things would be different. He would still have had to do all the terrible things he’s had to do, but he likes to think that he would have been slightly more mentally prepared for them. Even just a couple of years as a buffer would have been enough. He would have been fully prepared for everything that he would have been expected to do, and he would still have felt horrible, but he wouldn’t have broken down. He doesn’t think so, at least.

As it is, Roy is now a couple of months shy of twenty-one and it feels like he’s clinging on to his sanity by a thread. The smell of burning flesh won’t leave his nose and he’s lost count of the number of times he’s woken up screaming with Hughes’ concerned face hovering above him.

Things had been just about manageable until Lieutenant Colonel Sherman vanished. Roy wishes he knew what happened to her. She’d always kept an eye out for him and the other wet-behind-the-ears alchemists barely out of short trousers. Then she’d had one argument with General Abrams too many and then she was gone. He doesn’t know whether she deserted or whether she was shot for insubordination behind a tent somewhere.

All Roy knows is that if he doesn’t get out of Ishval right now, he’s going to steal someone’s sidearm and blow his own brains out, because he can’t go on like this any longer. He curls up in his bedroll, looking over at Hughes and thinking about Hawkeye just a couple of tents away. He can’t leave them here in the middle of this hell, but at the same time, he can’t stay here either, and surely it must be better to vanish like Sherman did rather than leave them to deal with the aftermath of his very final departure from the world.

The bombardments are heavy tonight, and Roy wonders privately if it’s artillery or just Kimblee on a spree.

Still. Whoever it is, they’re providing good cover, as Roy very quietly gets out of bed and pulls his boots on, filching Hughes’ sand overcoat because Hughes is taller and his coat comes down to Roy’s ankles.

He leaves everything else behind. Uniform, spark cloth, pocket watch, anything that could identify him or slow him down. Roy sneaks out of camp wearing boots, boxer shorts, an undershirt and someone else’s sand coat, and as he continues to creep away, he thinks that he really has tipped over the edge into insanity. Someone’s going to find him gibbering in a ditch in the morning. Maybe he’d get discharged and sent home then.

Maybe not.

He has a choice between heading east into the desert or heading west back towards Amestris, and he’s got enough sense left to know that wandering into the desert isn’t a good idea despite how incredibly inviting the notion is.

He keeps ploughing forward through the contested zone, keeping to the shadows, keeping out of sight, but in reality not caring too much if he’s caught and shot. He’s not sure what sense of innate self-preservation keeps him going whilst his thoughts are spiralling, but he keeps going nonetheless, not knowing or caring where he’s going, as long as he keeps moving, and keeps out of sight.

Roy doesn’t know how long he walks for. It feels like years.

Once he’s crossed into Amestris proper, it starts raining. Roy can’t bring himself to care. In books there’s the idea of the rain being a purifier, washing away people’s sins and leaving them clean and fresh. Roy can’t see it that way. The rain is just turning the dust and sand of Ishval into mud, making him feel even more stained and broken, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel properly clean again, not after everything that’s happened.

He pushes on, not even sure where he’s going or what direction he’s going in anymore. Maybe wandering out into the desert to die alone would have been a better option. At least it would have been warm and dry rather than cold and wet.

Maybe dying face down in a muddy ditch is what he deserves, but despite the dark thoughts running through his head, he keeps moving nonetheless, trudging on through the night into the dismal day and back into darkness again, keeping to fields and hedgerows, away from the main roads.

It’s only when he sees a little house on the top of a hill in the distance that Roy receives a new lease of life, remembering that he hasn’t eaten for a couple of days, and he’s suddenly ravenous, knowing somewhere deep down that if he wanted to die he should have just given up and done it by now.

He can't really ask for shelter when he’s a deserter and a traitor and probably wanted by the military already, but he’s not thinking that far ahead right now, and as he approaches the house, he can make out an expansive vegetable patch outside it and the smell of ripening tomatoes. They won’t notice a few missing, surely...

Roy crouches down behind the tomato plants as a light comes on in the house upstairs. He can see shadows moving around and curtains twitching, and he stays as still as he can, hoping they can’t see him. With any luck, the pale sand coat is now dirty enough not to be noticeable in the moonlight.

There’s no luck. More lights are going on and the door is opening, and someone is coming out into the rain.

On instinct, Roy snaps, but he left his gloves miles away and it’s pouring with rain anyway. The figure comes closer, holding out an umbrella over him, and Roy makes out a man with long hair wearing a raincoat and rubber boots over pyjamas. He holds out a hand to help Roy up off the ground.

“You’ve come from Ishval, haven’t you?”

Roy looks down at the drenched sand coat and military issue boots. He can’t really deny it.

“Well, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last. Come into the dry.”

Roy finds himself in a warm kitchen with a woman in a dressing gown making tea.

“There’s no need to hide under the tomatoes,” she says, pouring hot water into the pot. “We don’t bite. How long have you been out there? I’ll go and run you a bath, you’ll catch your death. Just leave your wet things in a heap by the door, we’ll deal with them in the morning and Edward, I told you to stay upstairs.”

The woman bustles out of the kitchen, and Roy gets a glimpse of a tousled golden head around the door before she chivvies him away and up the stairs.

Roy just stands dripping in the doorway for a few moments, not entirely sure he’s not actually lying in a ditch somewhere and this is all a fever dream.

The man brings over a couple of blankets and goes to pour the tea. Elsewhere, Roy can hear hot water pipes clanking and hissing, and he finally realises that he’s very cold and very wet. He strips down completely, reminded that he was so out of it that he managed to walk here from Ishval in little more than his underwear, and wraps up in the blankets, taking tentative steps towards the kitchen table.

“You seem very calm about all this,” he ventures. “Has this happened before?”

The man shrugs. “You’re the first person we’ve ever found in our vegetable patch, but you’re by no means the first person that the village has taken in on the run from Ishval. Both Ishvalans and military runaways; we get them all and we take care of them all. We always have. War is a horrible thing and we do what we can to mitigate it.”

He looks like he must be in his late thirties, but there’s something in his unusual golden eyes behind his glasses that gives Roy the impression that he’s seen centuries’ worth of violence in his time.

He gives a tired smile. “My name is Van Hohenheim. Welcome to Resembool.”

Whilst Roy has always firmly claimed not to believe in God, and that Ishval only strengthened that lack of belief, when he looks back on his first night in Resembool, he thinks that something outside of normal human power must have happened to have provided this safe haven just at the moment when he was on the knife edge of despair.

Hohenheim and Trisha let him into their home with no judgement and no expectations, giving him tea and food and a hot bath and spare pyjamas. They give him a makeshift bed in Hohenheim’s study, and when he wakes up screaming from nightmares of Hughes and Hawkeye paying the price for his desertion (Hughes was shot point blank in a phone booth, of all places, and Riza had her throat cut with a sword that looked suspiciously like Bradley’s), Hohenheim just gives him a knowing look from where he’s working on something at his desk. They talk about nothing of importance until the sun comes up and the rest of the family start to stir.

He meets Trisha and Hohenheim’s two boys in the morning, and they’re obviously intrigued by the stranger who turned up under their tomatoes in the middle of the night. Alphonse is more reserved, but Edward has no fear whatsoever.

“Are you an alchemist?” he asks. “We get a lot of them coming here from the east.”

Roy looks down at his hands, remembering everything his alchemy has done and his stomach churns with the memory of that awful stench that still won’t leave him behind.

“I was.”

Whether he’ll ever be able to use it again without needing to throw up afterwards is another matter entirely.

“That’s enough, Edward.” Trisha’s tone is firm as she flits around the kitchen, getting ready to leave on some kind of errand. Edward opens his mouth to protest, but a look from his mother silences him.

The other alchemists who’ve arrived in the town probably didn’t arrive in quite as dramatic a fashion and in quite such a hopeless state. He can understand Edward’s curiosity - he could tell from the moment he set foot in Hohenheim’s study that he’s a master of the craft to rival Berthold Hawkeye and Basque Grand - but at the same time, he’s grateful not to have to talk about it, and Edward dutifully doesn’t ask anything more.

A couple of hours later, Trisha returns with a familiar face that Roy has never really entertained the hope of seeing again.

At least he now knows the identity of at least one of the other alchemists who made their way to Resembool.

Alex Armstrong smiles at him, a smile that’s both sad and sympathetic at the same time.

“It’s good to see you, Mustang.”

#FMA: Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Roy Mustang #Fic: Haven

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britishassistant · 4 years

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But I Like One Piece (7)

The Uchiha compound is creepy.

It’s the same way Auschwitz is creepy. The knowledge of the atrocities committed there, combined with all the little context clues which make it more than just knowledge.

Smashed windows, run down storefronts, overgrown gardens, doors hanging off of rusted hinges. Random objects scattered around, as though waiting for their owners to pick them up.

Brownish stains everywhere.

This is what she always imagined the aftermath of a Buster Call would look like.

Except this is.

Real.

She shudders and clutches Naruto’s hand tighter. He squeezes back, averting his eyes.

Uchiha scoffs in front of them.

She frowns at his back. What, are they not allowed to be disturbed by the scene of a genocide? Still, she’s surprised he can stomach cutting through here, even if it is a shortcut to their destination.

“Is it far to your house?”

“Hn.” He says.

She scowls at his back. So much for pleasant conversation.

Eventually they come to a large house at the very center of the compound.

There’s more brownish stains here than in the rest of the compound, but Uchiha pushes the front door open.

“...Don’t bother taking your shoes off.” He says. “Training ground’s this way.”

“Wait.” Naruto stops dead, looking around wild-eyed. “You said the trainin’ ground was near where you live.”

The Uchiha actually turns around at this. “Yeah, and?”

She stares at the dusty, dark interior of the house. She closes her eyes and counts to ten.

“Sasuke-kun.” She says with her brightest smile. “Is there anyone living with you at the moment who looks after you?”

He shudders. “N-no. That’s stupid, I’m an Uchiha. I don’t need to be looked after. And d-don’t call me that ever again.”

She keeps smiling as she buries her face in her hands and tries not to scream. For the love of Luffy, Chopper and Robin, how is this child not a gibbering wreck?

Naruto gestures wildly at their surroundings. “But why—why’d you live here?! The village gave me an apartment! Why live where—”

He clamps down on the sentence. But it’s too late.

“What? Where my an-bro-broth—where That Man murdered my family?” Uchiha sneers. “A clanless moron like you wouldn’t get it.”

Naruto flinches a little.

“Well no one can if you don’t use your words and explain this shit.” She snaps, irritated. “People aren’t mind-readers you know.”

He stiffens, lip curling, before turning his back on them again. “Let’s just get this over with.”

She throws her hands into the air as Naruto cracks his knuckles, following him into the darkness of the house. “Bring it, jerk.”

Much like the spar at the Academy, the two of them are on even ground initially.

Also like the spar at the Academy, it’s not long until Uchiha begins losing.

Even without an audience, Uchiha has something to prove in this fight, and that distracts him instead of motivating him.

All the little needling remarks they’ve been making clearly get under his skin and making him lash out where it would’ve been smarter to play it safe, his stances and footwork becoming less precise and more sloppy as he frantically tries to beat Naruto down and make him stay down.

Whereas Naruto can easily dodge or shrug off these blows, redirecting the motion and using the openings to hit back.

She winces gleefully at a particularly painful hit on Naruto’s part. They’ve trained under Gai-sensei. One of the first things he taught them was the importance of letting your emotions fuel your resolve instead of trying to keep them separate and leaving them liable to distract you at the worst opportunity.

Naruto knocks Uchiha’s ankle out from under him and carefully controls the fall so Uchiha doesn’t even end up winded, but is definitely pinned with no hope of escape.

She grins widely, crowing. “Finished! Match victory to Uzumaki Naruto!”

Naruto promptly leaps up and begins whooping, running in circles around Uchiha, while the boy on the ground shouts that this wasn’t fair, he was only warming up, they need to go another round so they can clearly see how strong he is.

She just keeps grinning fiercely. “It’s better to accept loss with grace, Uchiha-san. Now, where’s your kitchen?”

This...

This is a travesty.

If Sanji was here, he’d kick Uchiha Sasuke so hard he’d rearrange his entire shitty face. Of course, given the track record of that move, it’d probably end up improving his looks, but still. Travesty.

There’s fruit shoved into pile in a corner and moldering, glimpses of white-green fuzz visible.

There’s packets of meat and fish in the fridge that have been carelessly torn and left open, their juices dripping down onto other items.

There’s eggs and yogurt left out on the countertop, already long curdled by the smell of them.

There’s congealed leftovers shoved into the fridge on the plates they were served on, without any foil or covers to protect them.

There’s grimy and poorly cleaned utensils sitting in a sink full of dirty water, and the countertops themselves are covered in stains from previous cooking attempts.

At least he knows milk goes into the fridge, and put the tomatoes in the cooler drawer. Even if they’re so squished together over half of them are bruised.

She takes a deep breath and tries not to choke on the stench. Sanji give me strength.

“Well.” She says brightly. “Congratulations. You’ve managed to somehow be even worse than my shittiest expectations.”

Uchiha glares at her out of a swelling black eye. “Shut up.”

She hangs her head, exhaling harshly. Not constructive Ketsugi.

“Right. Where do you keep your bin bags? The bigger the better I think.” She steps up to the sink, pulling the plug and letting the grime drain away, turning the tap on as far as it can go on “hot”.

Naruto makes a face at the rattling sound the drain makes, the expression pulling at his fat lip. She sighs. “Rubber gloves too, if you have them.”

“Your problem.” She tells him, in the middle of sorting through the fruit and seeing what’s salvageable and what has to go, “Is that you have too much food.”

They’re on the fourth bin bag already, having filled the other three with the contents of the fridge and carried them out to a monstrous skip at the back of the compound.

“You have loads of people giving you more than you can feasibly eat, let alone prepare.” She continues, grimacing at a particularly fluffy punnet of cherries. “So it goes to waste. You need to begin doing your own shopping. Or telling some of them thanks but no thanks. Or, hell, even donating the extra stuff to people who can use it.”

“Like who?” Uchiha asks dismissively, as he reorganizes his pantry so things aren’t just thrown in there willy-nilly, carefully sweeping up spilled grains of rice or flour or sugar or pasta into a dustpan as he goes.

“The Orphanage.” Naruto throws out as he scrubs pots and pans until they gleam under almost-boiling water. “They’d always tell me they never had enough food to go around when I lived there.”

Sasuke’s face is wrought with some complex emotion when he next empties the dustpan into the bag, his mouth twisting when she mutters, “Wouldn’t get it, huh?” striding back into the pantry like he hadn’t heard her.

She tilts an avocado, marveling at how much it feels like a rock, and says in a louder voice, “You could always see if there are any charities or soup kitchens that would appreciate the donations. Even I could always take some of what’s left over and make you something with it.”

“...” There’s a lot of judgement she doesn’t appreciate in that silence.

“I don’t just make curries.” She replies snidely, stuffing some rotten bananas into the bag with more force than is perhaps strictly necessary. “I do lots of other foods. Right Naruto?”

“Yeah!” He says, depositing a metal spoon onto the veritable field of tea towels they’ve laid out over the counter. “She just makes the curry super spicy because she has no idea what it’s supposed to taste like. She does other foods normal though!”

Her eyebrow twitches and she has to fight to stop herself from lobbing a mushy apple at Naruto’s treacherous head.

By the time they’re done, the countertops are gleaming, the fridge has been scrubbed clear of contaminating juices, and the sink’s drain no longer sounds like it’s giving out a death rattle every time water goes down it.

The pantry is arranged so Uchiha actually knows where stuff is, and the fresher meat and bread he doesn’t know if he’ll eat in the next week or so has been frozen and put into the freezer.

They have used a grand total of seventeen bin bags to throw away all the wasted food.

In one of the now-gleaming pots, there’s enough minestrone soup for one person gently bubbling away. All Uchiha has to do is let it simmer until the pasta is cooked through and then he can eat it. And wash everything up. She’s very adamant about him washing up properly.

She now has a bag stuffed full of food that Uchiha turned his nose up at on her shoulder.

The sun is beginning it’s slow descent out of the sky. They need to get going if they want to even have a quick dinner together.

“Wait. You two live together?” Uchiha asks, incredulous.

“No. I have to live in my apartment in the village.” Naruto says, looking crestfallen. “An’ I can only eat with Mayu-chan and Mayu-chan’s Okaa-san and Otou-san if I make it there and back before the sun sets.”

She smiles sadly at him, reaching out to squeeze his hand—

“If I leave, the Uchiha clan lands are forfeit.”

They turn back to Uchiha Sasuke, who’s begun looking like he really, really wishes he hadn’t said anything.

He huffs. “If I leave this place, the council will take it as a declaration of the Uchiha clan forfeiting their right to this land, since there wouldn’t be any living here anymore. The land will be reclaimed by the village, and—and—”

Clans are required to do things certain ways or risk dissolution. She sighs. “There is so much wrong with...that, but okay. We can start working on that next. Thank you for explaining.”

He nods stiffly, and walks them to the gate of the compound.

“I don’t get it,” Naruto says as they walk down her street, sun hot on their necks. “Even if the village does claim the lands, wouldn’t it be better to not live with...that?”

She shrugs the bag higher on her shoulder. “If he does, the village might tear down the old compound buildings to make new ones. And even if it is the site of an awful tragedy, he may still think of that place as ‘home’. If you’d lost everything else, would you wanna lose that too?”

Naruto shakes his head and bites his lip.

She gently bumps his shoulder with her own and they arrive home in pensive silence.

She makes sure to bring her (now dogeared and slightly stained) easy recipes cookbook with her to the Academy, alongside extra servings of eggplant tempura, to loan to Uchiha Sasuke.

He doesn’t quite throw a tantrum.

But it’s pretty close.

“I. Don’t. Want. It.” He grits out, glaring at her.

She bites into an onigiri she’s traded with Shino. There’s half a hard boiled egg inside as filling, and it’s supplying her with absent-minded ideas for recipes based off of food from her past life.

“Look, we’ve got your food down to manageable levels, but that means nothing if you can’t do anything with it.” She taps the book’s cover. “This is the first cookbook I ever owned. It’s what I used to use to make stuff for Naruto when we met.”

Naruto perks up a little at the other end of the table, craning to see it’s cover, so she holds it up for him. “It’s pretty easy to follow, and there are some more complex recipes in the back if you want a challenge—”

“I’m not wasting my time with cooking.” Uchiha hisses, nose wrinkling in distaste. “I need to focus on getting stronger. Only civilians care about useless things like that.”

She’s about to give him a good kick in the shins and see how he feels about civilians then, when Chouji abruptly stands up next to her.

“Wanna say that again, Uchiha-san?” He says, his tone low and surprisingly steely.

Shikamaru lifts his head off the table and sits up straight for once to give him a death glare, while Ino scoots her chair away from “Sasuke-kun” and crosses her arms, frowning at him imperiously.

Uchiha’s eyes dart between each one of the three, and he looks away, taking a bite out of one of the tempura she’s snuck into his lunchbox. “Hn.”

She blinks, trying to digest this new information about there being stellar cooks who also are apparently ninja while Chouji just sighs, settling back down in his seat and returning to his sandwich.

Of course, once he feels slighted, Uchiha can never leave well enough alone.

“It can’t even be that good.” He grumbles, pretending he doesn’t hear Kiba’s snickering. “If it was where soup you made came from. That was disgusting.”

She hears Hinata breathe a soft little “oh dear,” over the rush of blood in her ears.

“I see. What was wrong with it?” She asks.

The Uchiha puffs up a bit, oblivious to Shino shaking his head behind him. “Everything. I couldn’t even eat it, so I threw it out.”

There’s a soft slap as Shikamaru covers his eyes, muttering “Troublesome.”

“Alright. Well, since this is the first time, I’ll be sure to take your complaints into account.” She says, smiling.

She grabs his shirt collar and drags him up over the table to meet her gaze. “Because the next time you waste food, Sasuke-kun, I’m going to rip out your baby teeth, boil them down into a bone broth, and feed that to you instead. Are we clear?”

The Uchiha goes pale.

“Easy Mayu-chan, I think the jerk’s just lying to make you mad.” Naruto says, leaning over and gently attempting to pry her fingers off of the shirt collar. “C’mon, jerk, Mayu-chan doesn’t mean it—”

“Yes I do.” She adds.

“—No you don’t, stop making this worse!!” He yells, finally separating her from Uchiha. “I get you’re upset, and he shouldn’ta hurt your feelin’s, but you can’t just make bits of him into ingredients over stuff like this! Even Sanji wouldn’t do that, would he?”

“...Sorry, Naruto.” She replies hesitantly, feeling a bit abashed.

He gives her a disapproving look that is a stunning replica of her mother’s. “I’m not who you should be apologizin’ to, am I?”

She shoots a poisonous look at the offending party. “...Sorry Uchiha.” She says grudgingly.

He just huffs, storming off to the other side of the classroom where his fangirls coo over him and glare nastily at her.

But her cookbook has vanished along with him.

The next day he comes back and throws her recipe book at her face.

She has just enough time to catch it before it clocks her in the nose before he begins boasting in that quiet, insinuating way of his about how he’ll surely surpass her as he waves around a newer, updated copy of the same book.

She asks if that’s supposed to be a challenge, mind turning over the possibilities of recipes Uchiha will willingly cook and eat, mentally marking down the pages.

He haughtily snorts, but doesn’t deny it.

Sakura then shoots up, one hand in the air, saying she’ll be the judge. When Sasuke snorts and says she’ll be biased because she’s civilian, her lips purse and she grabs Chouji’s arm, proclaiming him to be her “co-judge”.

Chouji just shrugs and says he doesn’t mind getting more food.

So then of course, Ino invites herself and Shikamaru along as “moral support”, though why the judges need it is a little beyond her.

Naruto and Lee come with her, obviously, so Kiba and Hinata also show up that weekend with a reluctant Shino in tow.

Shikamaru’s beginning to teach him how to play shogi, and she’s experimenting with different concentrations of sugar water and fruit juice to see what his insects enjoy best, so she hopes he’s not too put out by spending time with them.

Akamaru is still a very good boy, and is perfectly happy with bits of meat and a rawhide bone.

They work out pretty quickly that Naruto can’t really be around for the cooking contests.

This is because Uchiha will, without fail, work out something to argue about with him, and then they’ll have to take it out on each other in the training ground, and by the time they’re finished it’s always too late to actually begin cooking.

So the weekends when Naruto is required to visit the Hokage become cooking contest weekends, while the ones where he comes become sparring weekends.

They don’t all always show up—Ino’s parents have a flower shop they want her to help out at, and her and Chouji and Shikamaru’s parents are all best friends so sometimes they have to go to parties. Shino, Hinata and Kiba often will have clan duties that mean they can’t come.

Sometimes she and Naruto or Sakura can’t come just because they’re spending some time with their parents.

But there’s always someone there on any given weekend, as the leaves on the trees change colors and fall off. And it works. Uchiha’s house is beginning to feel less like a mausoleum and more like somewhere lived in again.

She enjoys the chance to stretch her culinary muscles without bankrupting her parents and test her skills against a rival who she will grudgingly admit might be catching up to her.

She’s still more irritated by him than not, but Sanji and the other chefs at the Baratie drove each other up the wall too, so she’s fine with this working relationship.

Comrades don’t need to get along or even share the same goals to be able to work together after all.

Naruto’s birthday is always a strange affair.

They aren’t allowed to see him for the entire week, for one thing. He’s always collected by masks on the Sunday before and doesn’t return to his apartment until the next Monday.

The first time it happened, she freaked out badly enough that her father accompanied her to the Tower and they sat in a little waiting room outside the Hokage’s office for four hours, not meeting the glares that all the busy, ant-like people sent them.

Hokage-sama had taken their visit in good humor, even as he told them he couldn’t tell them where Naruto was, for the boy’s safety. He’d patted her head and told her not to worry, that Naruto would be back soon.

Of course, she’d worried enough that she ended up sitting outside of Naruto’s apartment for most of the week, watching the village’s festival below and knocking on the door intermittently, occasionally munching on bits and pieces from food stalls that her parents brought for her.

When she’d finally knocked on the door and Naruto had answered, she’d tackled him to the floor in a hug.

There may have been tears. She really couldn’t say.

Neither could Naruto, no matter what he likes to insinuate about “photographic evidence”.

So they’ve developed a tradition of celebrating Naruto’s birthday the weekend after the week it actually happens.

His birthday dinner is held at Ichiraku’s, like there’s any other option.

He gets his first five bowls of ramen free, and the rest heavily discounted. Teuchi-sama and Ayame-sama ladle extra toppings into each bowl, with a grinning “Happy Birthday, Naruto!”

Unlike last year, he’s got two birthday cakes this time, because Uchiha turns even gift-giving into a competition. He’s made an extremely bitter coffee cake with dark chocolate fondant and decorated with sour cherries forming an Uzumaki spiral. Naruto manfully eats two entire slices before passing it off to the adults, who derive much more enjoyment from it.

He likes the lighter vanilla sponge with orange buttercream and a white chocolate narutomaki which Chouji made much more. Chouji subtly lords this over Sasuke for the rest of the night.

Hinata stutters out a “Ha-ha-happy B-bi-bi—” before dropping an intricate box filled with shuriken and a whetstone on the counter and fleeing.

She lasted ten minutes longer this year.

Kiba gives Naruto kunai, as does Ino, which leads to an argument about the quality of their preferred suppliers. Sakura gives him a book on the language of flowers, while Shikamaru gives him a book on the plants of Uzushio and a calligraphy set.

Gai and Lee give him a piggy-bank in the shape of a smiling frog on a lilypad.

It’s really cute, and Naruto instantly declares it to be Gama-chan’s “big sister”, Kaeru-chan.

Her parents have bought him a selection of orange hoodies, some sleeveless and some not, all with the Uzumaki spiral hand-embroidered on the back by Okaa-sama. She also added little ninja frogs with teeny shuriken and kunai and katana in all of the hoods.

She’s a bit worried about her present by now, because it seems silly by comparison. Never mind that she had to search high and low all throughout Konoha and eventually ended up giving all her money to a merchant from Takigakure for this.

She hands him a (rather ratty) plush of a grey pelican with an offensively yellow bill. Her embroidery skill is nowhere near her mother’s level, so the red Uzumaki spiral she attempted to stitch onto its breast in place of the customary tomoe is crooked.

Naruto stares at it for a really long time.

The adults are very, very quiet.

“Well,” She hazards. “Hokage-sama did say everything we give him needs his symbol on it?”

Then Naruto begins laughing and hugging her tightly, proclaiming that it’s name is now Peri-chan, and the adults begin talking again, acting like nothing interesting has happened.

So she hugs Naruto back as hard as she can, Peri-chan squished between them.

It’d be nice if this could last.

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platypan · 5 years

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Greg is a Chaos Fairy, Wirt needs to learn to Say No, and Sara's day just got Cursed With Being Interesting--complete!

Chapter 7: All's Well that Ends Well

To Sara’s right, in the darkness, the barely-visible phosphorescent bridge suddenly lit in a whirling column of green light. The darkness withdrew to show a black horse with a mane and tail of smoke, and coals for eyes--standing stiff as a plastic model--Wirt, half off the horse, some extra mysterious flailing appendages, and in the middle of everything, the goblin priest. Wirt and the appendages fell to the cobbles at the end of the bridge with a metallic clatter, and Sara began trying to inch around towards him.

“You dare much, Priest,” said an echoey voice.

“Jacqueline la Corriveau!” he laughed. “I have your cutlass, and your horse, and your love--”

The little pile of appendages and Wirt disentangled, and a very small person in a nun habit dodged around the priest’s arm and on to the bridge, the cutlass flailing in one hand behind her. “Oh, my darling,” she cried. “Jacqueline!”

“You do not have my love, it appears,” said the voice, and a dark arm, green-tinged, slapped over the edge of the bridge. Its knuckles whitened. The nun dropped the cutlass and ran to throw her tiny weight into helping, but washed back in a surge of river water that covered the bridge, and slapped them all with icy spray. When it ebbed, and they wiped their eyes, a woman in rags stood in the center of the bridge. She looked as though she’d been formed of black marble, her hair in a sweeping bun of dangling braids, her jaw defiant, and her every motion graceful. Sara’s spine straightened of its own accord.

“Are you well,” the nun threw her arms around the spirit’s waist.

“Well, I’m dead.” She held the nun, stroking the head of her habit. “Where have you been.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do,” the nun started to sob, and the spirit rocked her, eyes fixed on the priest. The whirlwind of green light whipped their clothes around.

“What do you do here, godless man of the church?”

“Even in death, you are indeed a beauti--”

“Do not continue,” she advised. “Why have you taken my old friend captive?”

Sara edged along the edge of the path, as far as possible from the bridge, the green windy light, and Deckenbrode. She crept around the front of the horse, having a vague idea about the danger of kicking hooves, and grabbed Wirt’s shoulder. “Are you alright?!”

“Are you? Where’s Greg?!” he whispered back, reaching out, and then yanking his hand back. “I--I think we both--” he oofed as Greg scuttled under the motionless horse to throw both arms around him. “Greg!”

“You guys have to stop wandering off,” Greg whispered, grabbing for Sara, and the three of them squeezed each other for a few seconds before Wirt and Sara leapt away, blushing hotly.

“What’s going on,” Sara jerked her thumb at the bridge. “I mean I’ve met Deckenbrode, but what.” Her hand accidentally brushed his, and they both jerked away.

Wirt pointed, shielding his mouth. “That’s the priest?!”

“Yeah, he attacked a witch,” Sara whispered back.

“She’s so much better than our witch, Wirt,” Greg sighed.

“Anway!” Wirt flapped his arms, quietly, to himself. “The priest is evil! He framed her--” here he pointed at the taller woman on the bridge, “--That’s Jacqueline, the ghost, la Corriveau--for murder, and now she haunts the bridge--”

“Oh, we’ve heard about her,” Greg nodded, holding his frog up to see over the bridge railing they were crouched behind.

Wirt pulled him back down. “Yeah, okay, the person hugging her is her ex-fiancee, the nun, Henriette-I-did-not-get-a-last-name, and this is her horse--friend--the orc is controlling it with some--some God thing--” he knocked on the statue-like leg they hid behind, “--and the orc priest’s trying to steal her pirate treasure, from when she was a pirate.”

“Pirates,” Greg bounced on his toes.

“What in heaven’s name,” Phoebe landed on Sara’s head. “He is rather an orc, isn’t he.”

“This is Phoebe,” Sara waved upwards.

“I am a ruby-crested kinglet,” Phoebe announced and Wirt’s eyes narrowed as he mouthed it, nodding.

“You will submit,” the priest was shouting, his tiny tail flicking back and forth in excitement.

“That orc’s tail’s got a blue bow on it,” Greg pointed out, fascinated, and Phoebe blinked.

“That it does.”

“Why are you even here,” Jacqueline la Corriveau called back, her rags and hair wafting around her.

He made a slavering noise around his tusks. “I won’t give your horse back until you tell me the secret.”

“What bloody secret,” the column of green light whipped faster.

“Sara,” Phoebe cheeped, flitting to land on the horse to see what was going on. “Wirt, also, sorry--I think we should either be on that side of the bridge, or we ought to leave now. Deckenbrode is worse than--”

“I know!” Sara whispered, leaning out between the bridge railing and the horse.

Wirt swallowed, eyeballing the middle of the bridge, “...that huge goblin man is taking up this whole end of the bridge. We could get a rock, and--” he set his jaw, swallowing.

“Okay!” Greg leapt to his feet, and Sara grabbed them both back.

“Calm down!”

“I got this,” said Phoebe, whipping in to scratch Deckenbrode’s face, and Sara grabbed Greg’s hand, he grabbed Wirt’s, and they dashed onto the bridge and across to where the nun was finally pulling away, wiping her eyes. She beckoned them close, and stood in front of them, holding the cutlass.

The priest roared, swiping the air with his four-inch claws, but Phoebe dodged his flailing, yanking hair out of his ear with her beak, and flitted over to land on Wirt’s hat. “It’s certainly a good thing kinglets are such agile fliers,” she panted, as he stomped around, shaking the stonework of the whole bridge. “Holy tomatoes.” She exchanged an indignant chirrupy noise with Sara’s fierce nod, turning in a little circle around Wirt’s hat to catalog Greg, Wirt, and Sara safely in the middle of the bridge. Jaqueline and Henriette stood before them, and there were at least a couple of yards of bridge between them and the roaring priest.

“The treasure, spirit,” he snarled, smacking the Cheval Gauvin on the shoulder. “Surrender it, or I order this demon to kill that disobedient sister.”

“There is no treasure,” Jacqueline le Corriveau screamed back, her eyes lighting with green fire from within, and her arms stretching toward him.

“I think there is,” said the nun, touching her shoulder, holding out the cutlass between her forefinger and thumb.

“Henriette,” Jacqueline paused. “My love. No. She sent me the Cheval Gauvin, and the cutlass.” She smelled of sulphur, but considering her state of being, thankfully nothing worse.

“There is more to the cutlass,” the nun sighed, pulling out a pair of glasses and squinting at the hilt, before tucking them away again.

“--don’t cut yourself--” Jacqueline reached out, and Henriette took her hand and held it.

“With this salt water I summon thee,” she rubbed the butt of the cutlass up her cheekbone, and then knelt, and slid it spinning along the ground at the goblin priest. He snatched it up, holding it over his head, as the edge of it burst into black flame.

Jacqueline yelled “Henry, what are you doing?!” --and the goblin priest screamed.

The flames flared up in lines over his arm, and body, then vanished in smoke. He smacked at his face as it distorted, choking and gagging, until a watermelon-sized glob of smoke bounced out and spun in place at the foot of the bridge, before forming into a sinuous column of smoke, vaguely-human shaped, with horns, or maybe antlers.

“Wowza Fudgesicles,” Greg whispered to Phoebe, who had beeped, startled.

“Let’s just step back a bit further,” she suggested, and Wirt and Sara hauled the struggling Greg back another few feet along the bridge.

“...hello, my Jacqueline,” the new horned smoke-creature hissed, its voice all gibbering echoes. Sara shuddered, suddenly nostalgic for Auntie Greenleaf’s calm chorus. “My love, my--”

“You,” Jacqueline stepped back. “I owe you nothing, you set me free with no--”

“I will have your heart one day,” the shadow grew, spreading. “Its brilliance shall burn me.”

“Why can’t these people keep their feelings off you,” Henriette frowned, stepping in front of her.

“She is really pretty,” Sara touched her curls, frowning, and Wirt closed his eyes, flailing his hand at hers a few times before successfully grasping it. He gave it a squeeze.

“Just as--you are--pretty as--” he tried. “Oh my god.”

“Do you think so?” she grinned, watching as Jacqueline la Corriveau stood shoulder to shoulder with her nun, holding hands.

“Where is my treasure,” the priest roared.

“Oh, that,” the smoke-creature sighed. “Are you prepared for the trade?”

“What,” Jacqueline frowned, raising her hand again.

“The trade, of course, I’m not a storage depot,” it sighed, and the breeze blew hot dry air enough to dry everyone’s eyes.

Jacqueline frowned behind her at Wirt, Phoebe, Greg, and Sara, drawing her nun forward, so the two of them were braced between the shadow-creature and the children. Phoebe flitted forward to land on the nun habit. “If we need to, I can distracted him again while you go for the cutlass.”

“We were not aware of a trade,” Jacqueline told him.

“And yet you are here, with my horse, and the cutlass on which I inscribed my sigil.” It sounded doubtful.

“...the Cheval Gauvin is yours?” she asked shakily, and Deckenbrode stepped in front of it.

“My shadows, in trade for precious matter of your world,” the smoke figure agreed. “I see it has not become any more of a conversationalist.”

“No, it has,” Jacqueline’s eyes shone. “It is only controlled, right now.”

“Take him back, and bring forth the treasure, I command you, spirit!” the orc-priest brandished his cross, and the shadow-creature focused on him without turning, growing to loom over his head.

“You command me,” it whispered, the strange echoes of its voice giggling and sobbing. “You, a--” the side facing Jacqueline leaned closer, separating from the rest. “What is it, actually?”

“A fallen priest,” breathed the nun. “A murderer, and a thief. Transformed to a goblin, for giving insult to Auntie Greenleaf.”

“Oh. She does tend to do that. Quite large,” the segment of shadow looming over Deckenbrode leaned closer, many of its echoes sounding pleased. “A fallen priest, you say. How interesting.”

“You can’t have Cheval Gauvin,” Jacqueline whispered, then took a deep breath. “You can’t. You can keep the treasure.”

“I demand you release the treasure!” Deckenbrode swung at the shadow, and passed through, and it wriggled.

“It would never do to inconvenience you, my sweet Jacqueline,” it giggled with a thousand voices. “I will take this befouled man of god in his place, he looks...delicious.” It whirled around Deckenbrode, who shrieked, before both vanished with the sound of a thunderclap. The Cheval Gauvin came out of its daze with a prance upon the cobbles, nearly sliding into the river as it shook itself thoroughly. Jacqueline ran to throw her arms around its neck, and it nuzzled her braids. Where Deckenbrode had stood were chests, and sacks, a pile of scrolls, and books with worked metal covers stacked high as Sara’s waist. Phoebe flitted over to investigate. “...there’s a bag of durian fruit here. I see why he gave it back. I say, your majesty--”

“Oh, don’t,” Jacqueline sighed.

Phoebe hopped around among the bags, and tugged at the buckle closing a book. “We were aided by Auntie Greenleaf, and aided you in turn. Could you speak to her? Offer her--something?”

“Certainly, I have no use for it,” Jacqueline hugged her horse friend tighter.

“The treasure.” It nosed at Jacqueline’s face, lipping at her hair. “I am...forfeit, then?”

“No,” she rested the flat of her hand against its nose, rubbing gently. “No, it--it took Deckenbrode.”

“...that was an option?��

“You knew there was treasure,” Henriette approached, frowning. “Why didn’t you--”

“I knew I had been traded,” it shook its head, snorting. “You overestimate the intelligence of a lopped-off pile of shadows. It took time for my queen to teach me speech.”

Henriette reached out to it, then patted Jacqueline’s shoulder instead. “You’d have been --absorbed?”

“The marvelous Cheval Gauvin would have been no more,” it hung its head. “Do not throw yourself off the bridge, however, for--”

“You are well,” Jacqueline stepped back, smiling. “You will remain well, for I do not believe you can take ill, and I doubt you’ll age.”

“Oh bells,” the nun sighed. “Neither of you two beauties will, but I certainly shall.”

The shadow-horse huffed, sidling restlessly, then butted her with its nose. “Of course I shall fetch you,” it said stiffly. “When you die. As I did my lady.”

“Oh!” Jacqueline and Henriette both started to cry, throwing their arms around its neck, and it flicked its tail.

Wirt rolled his eyes. “Look how self-satisfied it is.”

“Wirt, you were riding a horse,” Greg gasped. “We had to rub magic tiger juice on our feet and it didn’t even turn us into tigers--”

“And you met that orc, oh my god, I’m the worst brother ever--” he grabbed at his hair, yanked on the hand Sara was holding, looked at their clasped hands, and stalled out, eyes wide.

“I kept an eye on them,” Phoebe flitted over and bumped his cheek with her head.

“And I have not been introduced to all of you.” Jacqueline smiled, wiping her eyes, one arm around the Cheval Gauvin, one around Henriette the nun. “Are you four all right?”

“Don’t forget my frog. He’s named Sara,” Greg waved him overhead, and Sara punched his shoulder. “We are all fine!”

“I am Phoebe Snetsinger,” Phoebe poofed up again to twice her size, then fluttered her wings and tail, preening. “Thank you for your assistance.” She sidled along Wirt’s shoulder to see everyone.

“That one’s Wirt--” Henriette pointed.

“Hullo,” Wirt waved worriedly.

“I met him when your horse asked him to rob my church.”

The Cheval Gauvin snorted. “Just as well I did, Henry, or Deckenbrode would be here yelling at our pirate queen, and she’d be trying to tug him into the water--”

“He was so heavy,” Jacqueline sighed.

“Oh no,” Henriette sat down, abruptly, in the middle of the bridge. “He’s dead, or as good as, oh no!”

“Oh, she’s a nun now,” Cheval Gauvin leaned his head down, and Jacqueline sat next to her. “She feels bad about things like murder!”

“Not that, I mean, he was terrible, I wouldn’t have killed him, but--”

“I would,” muttered the horse. “I still think he publicised Jacqueline was hiding here, somehow. How did pirates keep finding her? Did he take out an advertisement? I’d certainly have killed him.”

“I tried my best, he weighed a ton, I couldn’t heft him over the edge--” Jacqueline told it, behind her hand. Phoebe chirped sympathetically.

“Not that--” Henriette rolled her eyes. “He was also blackmailing people--I’d almost gotten at his records, when he got thrown out of the church,” she sighed, waving her hand at the treasure pile. “Now there’s all this money, but I don’t know who to give it to, and they aren’t likely to tell me!”

“You were investigating him?!”

“Well, of course, I wasn’t called to love God, I was called to love you,” she bit her lips, then leaned up and kissed Jacqueline’s cheek. “He was hunting you! My mother did set me on course for the Church, but I...I waited by the window, hoping you’d ride by, ready for the evidence I had compiled. And then I hear you’re married-- ”

“Well,” Jacqueline ducked her head, clearing her throat. “That was actually…”

“He told her he was my queen’s second mate,” the horse’s face lowered into the conversation. “To share in the treasure, he needed only her name on a paper, he said.”

“Of course he comes to call and thinks I’m hiding it somewhere,” Jacqueline leaned her face in her hands. “He tore up my floor.”

“He threatened her with an axe,” the horse clacked its shoes against the cobbles, huffing. “And that priest kept lurking around--”

“You poor child,” Phoebe scuttled over to Jacqueline’s hand.

“We brought his records!” Sara clapped, and they all turned to stare at her, waving with one hand, the other rifling her bag. “I’m sorry, it sounds like you two have oh, just, so much to talk about! But--we do! Have it!” She held up the book they’d stolen from Auntie Greenleaf.

“How on earth,” Wirt blinked.

“We got sent to steal too,” Greg patted his leg. “We’re just a family of bandits.”

“So,” Wirt settled between Sara and Greg, blushing as Sara’s shoulder brushed his own.

Greg shivered. “I’m not cold,” he announced, but after Phoebe flitted up to the ear of the Cheval Gauvin, it huffed a snicker. Its hooves rang against the cobbles as it walked carefully over to them, and dropped its butt to sit just behind Greg, radiating heat like a hot coal. Wirt edged closer, and the horse leaned to nudge Sara after him.

“Thank you,” Wirt looked up, slowly reaching out to pat a mostly-substantial leg. “Uh, so,” he tried again, looking over at the ghost and the nun, who were leaning against each other. “Um, would--how did--we’re really confused.”

“Yeah, how did you lose your pirate treasure but your girlfriend knew where it was all along,” Greg’s lips firmed disapprovingly.

“I was never a pirate,” Jacqueline scoffed--the horse raised its head, and she narrowed her eyes at it. “I--I am, I admit, in a way...the Pirate Queen.”

Wirt opened his mouth, frowning, and met with a peck from Phoebe, and a swift elbow from Sara and Greg. “Hush, Wirt, she’s a queen.”

“I am hardly that, in reality,” Jacqueline sighed, and Henriette laid her hand over Jacqueline’s softly glowing one, as she continued. “This all started when I was born, at sea. My mother went into labour out of fear, they told me--there was a storm, at night, and she wasn’t used to the rock of the decks. And then the ship shuddered--we’d been boarded, and, we learned later--”

“I love this story,” said the demon horse. Its eyes flamed attentively, and Jacqueline reached up to rub its nose.

“We were boarded, as I say. The crew said the pirate captain walked across to us, stepping from chain to chain after the volleys of grappling hooks. Her coat flapped in the wind, her hair was shorn to her head like a prisoner--and that’s what she was, we were told, later. She began her career sinking a ship transporting slaves to the New World. They say she used her chains to tangle the former captain’s fine leather boots, and swung him so hard out to sea he skipped across the surface of the water for three whole days, until his clothes had been torn from his wrinkled white body, and the hot sun of the equator set him in flames.”

“What was her name?” Sara blinked eyes wide as Greg’s.

“She told my mother it was Jacqueline,” Jacqueline sighed, and used her torn sleeve to buff the edge of the cutlass. “As my mother laboured belowdecks, my cries drew the attention of the pirate captain--”

“Were they singing?” Greg asked.

“What? No,” she blinked, and the whole bridge went a little dimmer as her eyelids flicked over the flames in her sockets.

“They weren’t real pirates, then,” he put his hands on his hips. “I know a better pirate story--a cabin boy--”

“Greg, stop,” Wirt hissed out the side of his mouth.

“He drills the side of a ship and sinks it,” Greg glowered back.

“It’s a good idea,” Jacqueline sighed, leaning into her nun. “I almost wish your cabin boy had been there.”

“Oh, no!” cried the nun, clasping the damp, forest green glowing hand in her own. “I can’t wish that.”

“Sometimes, I have,” Jacqueline sighed, but squeezed her hand. “Their captain broke through the wall of my mother’s cabin with an axe, and her high heeled boots, and we were struck dumb with terror...until she bent to pinch my cheek, and I screamed with such force her large hat flew out of the porthole.”

“Oh, no, her hat,” Greg clasped his hands over his mouth.

“Then...she said she would let us go.”

“Whaaaat?” Greg and Sara gasped, Phoebe bounced in place, and the horse huffed.

“She said she had always wanted a child, except for the mess, and the noise, and the very long time it takes us to become reasonable.”

“That’s all so true,” Wirt nodded, and Greg frowned over.

“So she would not sever our screaming heads from our bodies, she said, provided--” here she laughed, leaning her head in her hand. Greg, Sara, Wirt, the Cheval Gauvin, and the nun leaned in, holding their collective breath. “--provided, she said, I became her daughter. I was to take her name, and captain her ship--”

“Holy moly,” Greg put in, and she nodded. Wirt and Sara, both observing the ghost and the nun’s interlocked fingers, glanced sidelong at each other, and then stared at the ground, cheeks flushed.

“Of course,” she sighed, “--my mother agreed. What was she to say, to the woman who cut off her own arm to commission one with knives for fingers and two muskets for bones? Who used a lead ball instead of a glass eye, so if she ran out of shot, she could pull one last deadly round from her face? She, who tied a string of fuse to her heel so her body could be set as a bomb to cover her ship’s retreat?”

“She sounds terrifying,” Wirt squeaked, grabbing at the shoulder of Sara’s coat, and she clasped his hand, swallowing.

“Oh, she was,” Jacqueline sighed. “Mother said the lace of her jacket was smoldering, and occasionally she’d glare down, and the flames would pause.”

“She kinda sounds like a pro wrestler,” said Phoebe, and Jacqueline’s flame-eyes shuttered again in a startled blink.

“I--I suppose. I pity her opponent, in that case.”

“Anyway,” the horse put in, blowing its lips.

“Anyway.” She nodded. “She obtained my mother’s family name, and town, and as she left, flung the smoldering coat at the head of our first mate. It flared into an inferno the moment it left her hands--”

“Was she a demon,” Sara frowned at the horse.

“--and my mother lived in fear of the day she would visit, and claim me for her own, unknowing whether it would be my fifth birthday, or my fifteenth, or a dying, bedside request--that I come, and be her pirate daughter, and do howsoever she willed.”

“I have a couple relatives like that,” Sara muttered, and Wirt glanced at her wide-eyed, then muffled a giggle. She turned red.

“Wirt’s girlfriend--” Greg put his hands on his waist, ignoring their sputters. “I want to hear about the Pirate Queen.”

“She died,” Jacqueline stared into the darkness behind them. “I understand she dueled a cannon.”

“A what,” Wirt blinked.

“Wow,” Greg breathed.

“We do meet the most interesting people,” Phoebe whispered to Sara, who covered a laugh.

“She had told everyone where to find me--” Jacqueline swallowed hard, and the nun gasped, pulling her into a hug. “--and they came looking.”

“That’s when she met me,” the Cheval Gauvin wriggled, marching its front hooves against the cobblestones of the bridge. Greg and Phoebe yelped, and it snorted.

“She bid her steed bring me her cutlass,” Jacqueline nodded. “How she rode a horse on a pirate ship I don’t know--”

“I am no common horse,” put in the horse. “She rode me along the chains, over to the ships they attacked, and bullets passed through me like smoke.”

“Also terrifying,” Wirt whispered, then swallowed as Sara squeezed his hand.

“While she fought, I kicked down doors, freeing prisoners and claiming treasure.”

“This treasure,” Jacqueline sniffed. “I received only the cutlass. I knew how to use it--my mother did that much, for her promise, she found me teachers, and made sure I could ride, fight, shoot, and do sums.”

“Oh!” Greg nodded. “For the treasure.”

She nodded back. “She was uncertain what a pirate queen would need. I had a great many singing lessons, of course, and chemistry, in case she made her explosives herself.”

“Talk about me again,” said the Cheval Gauvin, and she sighed.

“...she had told everyone I would inherit her empire. Her ship--”

“It sank,” the demon horse put in helpfully. “But we can steal a new one!”

“--her treasure, which she failed to include instructions for--”

“Mostly she freed slaves,” it flicked its ears.

“In the end, all I had were a cutlass, the Cheval Gauvin--” it edged away from its pile of children and pranced in a circle, “--and a whole lot of pirates who thought she’d somehow given me a massive pile of gold.”

“Oh no,” Sara breathed, as the horse carefully eased its way back between them.

“Indeed,” Jacqueline laughed, her smile as lit from within as her eye sockets, bright in her greeny-brown face. “They came in ones and twos at first, and sometimes they were polite. They tore my house apart, hurt my family--so I left that place, that none should be hurt for my sake, and came here. I was suspicious of everyone…”

“Understandably, my dear!” Phoebe cheeped.

“--and eventually, they found me again. I would see them following, and we would lead them to places where the bank of the river was weak, or out into the bogs, where a cart and four oxen can disappear from this world in the time it takes to draw breath to scream. Sometimes, I took up the cutlass, and fought them myself.”

“I want to learn the cutlass,” Greg announced.

“No, Greg,” Wirt said automatically, and Greg dropped to the ground with a long sigh.

“I met my love, when her mother saw me riding into town, and asked that I lure her from her novels--”

“I didn’t read so many novels,” the nun ducked her head, her cheeks already too dark to see a blush, but Jacqueline pretended to touch one and be burned.

“Oh, the heat!”

“Hush, you,” she hid her face in the rags of Jacqueline’s shoulder, not appearing to mind the sulphurous smell.

“I’m glad to see the pirates didn’t get your girl, at least,” Phoebe fluffed up, her tail twitching.

“They did not,” Henriette beamed up at Jacqueline. “And with your book--” she beamed at Sara, who was smiling vaguely at Jacqueline, “--we may pay back the people Deckenbrode has harmed, and make ready for the new priest. She should ride in in a few days--she was very concerned at my account of the people here.”

“We might rebuild my house,” Jacqueline sat her chin on her hands.

“But aren’t you a nun?” Greg frowned at Henriette. “Can you just--move out, like that?”

“I haven’t actually taken vows,” she shrugged. “But they can try and stop me.” She leaned into Jacqueline, who bent her head to kiss her cheek, then her mouth, then her forehead. Henriette giggled.

“Actually,” Phoebe fluttered to Wirt’s knee, the most central of leg options. “It’s about time for us to go.”

“But it’s dark,” Sara frowned around in the dim green light of the ghost lanterns.

“Yes,” said Phoebe, “But we’re nearly out of time.”

Wirt frowned at her, then blinked, and stood up, brushing himself off. Greg hopped amiably to his feet, and collected his frog--it had decided to stare at Jacqueline too, after she caught it a large fly with one swift wave of her hand, and held it out by the wings. Sara got up to shake hands with Henriette and Jacqueline, and accept a nuzzle from the Cheval Gauvin. His whuffed breath felt like she’d waved her hand under a broiler.

“Thank you,” Henriette told Wirt, and then Sara, and Greg, before drawing them all into a hug.

“From I also,” Jacqueline stepped close to Sara, narrowed her eyes, and then awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Thank you for obtaining the book. It will save Henry, and the people of this village, much heartache.”

Sara nodded, wide-eyed.

“Would you like to kiss my frog?” asked Greg, of Jacqueline, and Henriette dove between them, while Phoebe ji-ji-jeeted what sounded like cackling laughter.

“No! No kissing of frogs! I just got her back!”

“I do not...usually kiss frogs?” Jacqueline blinked as Henriette flexed her muscles at the frog. She was barely taller than Greg, when he had the kettle on his head.

“Well, he didn’t say he wanted to be a prince anyway,” Greg huffed off toward the end of the bridge.

The Cheval Gauvin nudged Wirt. “You were much more helpful than the other children I kidnapped. You may go home.” Wirt stared at it, tugging at Sara’s sleeve, and they backed away from Henriette, who was waving, with big tears running down her cheeks, and Jacqueline, who was hugging her, face buried in her hair. The Cheval Gauvin was nuzzling Henriette’s other side, and she hugged its face.

Phoebe flitted to Wirt’s head. “It isn’t actually that far,” she chirped, and Greg nodded, trundling along.

“I guess it’s just as well we came?” Sara glanced over at Wirt, grimacing. “I mean. They needed that book. People were being blackmailed.”

“I’m so glad you came,” Wirt beamed at her, stumbled, and turned the color of communion wine as she caught him around the waist.

“It’s dark, maybe we should, um,” she held out her hand, and he approached it with his own like her thumb had a mousetrap mechanism. When they finally connected, they both stumbled, and Phoebe hopped off to land on Greg.

“It’s okay, they’re just gross like that,” he told her.

Greg’s natural pace wasn’t hurtling, exactly, but they were making fairly good time when Phoebe’s feathers caught Sara’s attention. “Uh, Phoebe?” She held out her hand, and Phoebe fluttered to it. She was nearly weightless, the only reminder of her presence her tiny claws. “Um, are you--are you glowing?”

“It looks rather fetching, doesn’t it?” she preened, her quick motions leaving silvery afterimages as their eyes tried to adjust to the dark.

“It looks like some of you is floating away,” Greg squinted in, and she cocked her head.

“Well, yes, there is that. We should keep walking, before I’m gone.”

Wirt swallowed. “Are--are you the bluebird?”

“What a limited imagination that woman had!” Phoebe fluttered indignantly. “A kinglet, I told her. I grew up around kinglets, they make me think of home.”

“You’re dead?” Greg asked, catching up to proceedings, and she chirped.

“In life, I was an ornithologist. Phoebe Snetsinger. I was the first person to spot over 8,000 different bird species. When I found myself here, I--it was fascinating, being a bird. Even if wasn’t a kinglet.”

Sara kept walking, uncertain what else to do. “...I guess you really won’t perch on my head in class, or come to the window when I sing,” she laughed, sniffling.

Phoebe flitted to her shoulder, and fluffed, butting her cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the entire truth, Sara. I thought it might--undo me, you know? I quite liked being a kinglet, and traveling with you.”

“Snetsinger’s a good name,” Greg whispered, wide-eyed.

“Wirt,” she flittered her tail. “Thank you for your help. I found your friends, and guided them, protected them, and gave them good counsel.”

“Thank you?” he swallowed.

“Yes, thank you, Phoebe,” Sara nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. Wirt smacked Greg in the kettle.

“Thank you, Phoebe. Say goodbye, Snetsinger.” Greg held up his frog, and said goodbye again, in a deeper voice.

“Greg, and Sara, the funeral song was very nice. You were very good with that bottle, Sara. And Greg, I’d be honored to be the momentary namesake for your frog.”

“Maybe I should name him all the good names together,” Greg cocked his head in thought.

“Well, I’m not quite gone,” Phoebe fluttered her wings, checking. “How about that song, Greg?”

“I’ll finish singing it, then,” Greg glowered up at Wirt, and his frog started singing in harmony.

“There was a ship that sailed

all on the Lowland Sea,

and the name of our ship

was the Golden Vanity

and we feared she would be taken

by the Spanish enemy

as she sailed in the Lowland,

Lowland, low

as she sailed in the Lowland sea.

Then up stepped our cabin boy

and boldly outspoke he

and he said to our captain

"what would you give to me

If I would swim alongside

of the Spanish enemy

and sink her in the Lowland,

Lowland, low

and sink her in the Lowland, sea

"Oh, I would give you silver

and I would give you gold,

And my own fairest daughter

your bonny bride shall be,

If you will swim alongside

of the Spanish enemy

and sink her in the Lowland,

Lowland low

And sink her in the Lowland sea.

The boy he made him read

And overboard sprang he

and he swam alongside

of the Spanish enemy

And with his brace and auger

in her side he bored holes three,

And he sunk her in the Lowland,

Lowland Low,

And he sunk her in the Lowland Sea.

Then quickly he swam back

to the cheering of the crew

But the captain would not heed him

for his promise he did rue,

and he scorned his poor entreatings

when loudly he did sue,

And he left him in the Lowland,

Lowland, Low

And he left him in the Lowland Sea.

Then quickly he swam ‘round

to the port side

And up to his messmates

full bitterly he cried,

"Oh, messmates, draw me up

for I'm drifting with the tide,

And I'm sinking in the Lowland,

Lowland, Low

I'm sinking in the lowland sea."

Then his messmates drew him up,

But on the deck he died,

And they stitched him in his hammock

Which was so fair and wide,

And they lowered him overboard

And he drifted with the tide,

And he sank in the Lowland,

Lowland, low

And he sank in the Lowland sea.”

“Thank you for that entertainingly horrible song,” were Phoebe’s last words, as the faint breeze blew away the last of her glow.

“They did try to sink pirates,” Greg rolled his eyes.

“Goodbye, Phoebe!” Sara yelled.

When they crested the hill, they could see the parking lot of the school just over the ridge. Wirt and Sara boosted Greg and his frog up, and then Wirt quailed at Sara’s approach, so she hoisted him around the waist, and pushed up on his shoe as he scrambled. When he flailed his arms down for her, she felt her cheeks heating. She set her shoulders and took his hand, scrambling up. In her backpack, the gollywhopper egg cracked.

The first bell of the day was ringing.

#Over the Garden Wall #greg & frog #wirt #platypan #platypan fic #platypan FINISHED FIC #they didn't want to be here but they're doing their best #talking horses are sketchy #Adelaide had a weird obsession with bluebirds #Stop stealing everything y'all #not everyone is a pirate GREG

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lunatickfemme · 5 years

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The stress gets to me sometimes. Here I am and it's way past time for Dad to be up. He doesn't sleep a lot. So I sit here wondering. I walk down the hall and look in. He's in the same position he was five hours ago when I got up. The thunder rumbles and crack as the storm moves in outside. The window is open. He's not snoring. Usually he snores. If he's sleeping that good. He doesn't sleep enough. If not.....His heart is bad. His veins are blocked in his leg. His doctor said yesterday he needs surgery. And soon or he'll lose the leg. I stand in the doorway. I am a coward. I don't want to go in. I don't want to be the one to see. I creep in quiet on soft feet. If he's asleep I don't want to wake him. But what if he's not? What next? Half my mind is in the practical bits- who to call. If I'll have to let my boss know I need time off. How will we pay for this. This doesn't really distract me form the other half of my mind. The half wailing and howling and gibbering in terror and loss. Loss. Loss. My eyes sting and my muscles tremble briefly before I assert control. I reach the side of the bed and lean down. There. Is his back moving? His arm? Am I just seeing what I want to see? No. It's there. He breaths. Relief washes over me. Not today. I breath out as I leave and pad down the hallway. Not today I tell myself as I stare out into the rain that pours off the porch roof. But I can't help but think. Not today ....But how many more today will I have? Not very many. I can feel the storm coming. But not yet. Not today.

.....I think I'll make him fired green tomatoes for breakfast today. He likes those.

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huonperrenials · 7 years

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Macdonnell Ranges-Serpentine Gorge

Hi there!

Heading west out of Alice Springs on Namatjira drive you are soon in the heart of the Macdonnell Ranges. We went past places like, Standley Chasm, Simpsons Gap, Ellery Creek Water Hole and then we pulled up at Serpentine Gorge. All these places by the way are easily accessible from Alice Springs as Day trips, quite handy if you don’t want to camp out in the wilds! The Macdonnell Ranges run for about 640 odd km’s east and west of Alice Springs. Parallel ridges on either side of the valley are quite visible and in these ridges there are gaps which provide spectacular scenery and beautiful waterholes to cool of in the middle of summer. The Ranges were green from recent rain which really made them standout amongst the surrounding landscape of red and ochre desert colours. If you want to learn more about the Macdonnell ranges click HERE.

Serpentine Gorge was created by a south flowing creek which has cut through two ridges of Heavitree Quartzite leaving a spectacular gorge. The road in is not too bad for a dirt road and once you get to the parking area it’s about a 1.5km walk in to the gorge across dry creek beds and scrubland. If you’re lucky and are here after rain there are lots of wildflowers to see. I was the one lagging behind taking photos of plants and flowers as the rest of the family steamed ahead to the heady heights of the gorge lookout. Now if you want to see pictures of Serpentine Gorge in all its glory, I’m not going to show them right now! You will need to scroll through this post to find them, cruel I know but well worth it!

Here is one of the dry creek beds, very rocky as you can see.

This is what a lot of the surrounding plant scape looks like, uninspiring you may say but you just need to look closely to find its beauty.

Larapinta trail marker, this walking trail is 223km in length across the Macdonnell ranges, click on this link, maybe one day!

If you’re walking too fast you will miss this little plant. Brachyscome ciliaris also known as Variable Daisy is found in all states of Australia and usually in sand and gibber plains(extended plain with loose rocks). Grows to about 45cm. Brachyscome quite often seen in nurseries and gardens around the country even more exciting to find it out here!

Remember! Don’t just look ahead, cast your eye’s down and to the sides of where you’re walking, you’ll never know what you will find or see next.

Above is a couple of more photos of this little gem. Now, what about some Nightshade! Solanum quadriloculatum. That’s a mouthful, Wild Tomato sound better? Be very wary, this plants fruit are poisonous, another reason why common names are misleading. This plant grows to 50 x 50cm near flooded watercourses and or low sand dunes. It’s quite prickly and flowers in winter and spring.

Below is Senna artemisoides subsp. artemisoides, another mouthful but a very beautiful shrub which grows to about 1-2 metres with beautiful yellow buttercup flowers in winter and spring.

Maybe you can just call it the Silver Cassia. Now for an Emu Bush. Eremophila latrobei , commonly known as the Crimson Turkeybush, click HERE if you want to read more about this plant. Quite beautiful!

Another stunning Emu bush is Eremophila longifolia , also known as Berrigan, tall shrub to small tree weeping in form, click HERE if you want to know more about the Berrigan.

Sorry, I got distracted with the plants in the Serpentine Gorge, lets move onto the scenery. This is the first sort of glimpse of the gorge and it looks like its sort of straight up to the top, hmm!

Lets go for it! Now we are starting the climb up and here you can clearly see the parallel ridge lines that run through the Macdonnell Ranges.

Another couple of views of those ridge lines

Yes, as you can see above we are getting higher, quite spectacular! It is quite a rocky landscape and on these hillsides there is a lot of Porcupine grass, Trioda irritans. The last past of its botanic name sums it up very well indeed, very irritating because it’s quite prickly.

Below are more views across the valley.

Another plant of interest for me to see in the wild was Dodonaea viscosa , the Broad leaf Hop Bush or just plain Hop Bush, very common in gardens around the country and useful for many things from hedging to specimen plantings. It’s a very variable plant in the wild and widespread across the country.

Now I know photos are great but there’s just no comparison to actually being there and seeing this landscape. I have a great digital SLR camera but it doesn’t capture the WOW! The size, scope and detail of what your eyes are looking at or what your feeling right then and there as you look at this amazing country. Below is the Serpentine Gorge.

Where does one go now from these heights? Down one would expect and lo and behold something I missed on the way up nearly hit me fair and square in the head on the way down.

Leaning over the rocky pathway was this intriguing large shrub with what looked like stems twining around themselves like a climbing plant. This is Pandorea doratoxylon also known as the Spearwood Vine. The Aboriginal people use this plant for spears hence its common name. The long twining stems are light weight and are straightened and hardened over a fire. The flowers are quite pretty when one comes upon them in such a tough landscape.

If they look familiar to you, you may be thinking of Pandorea jasminoides the Wonga Wonga vine or also known as the Bower Vine or one of the many hybrids available today. You would be correct because they are in the same family Bignoniaceae. Check out this closeup below!

This next photo doesn’t show too much, I just liked the detail of the bark. To me it tells a story of the harsh landscape in which it resides.

These next photos show an interesting Grevillea, the Holly Leaf Grevillea, Grevillea wickhamii. There are a few sub species but I’m not sure which one this is. I have pictures of this flowering at a different location which will be revealed at a later date!

You can see above that the new growth gives the plant a tinge of yellow which from a distance look like flowers.Some more plants of interest here included another beautiful Emu Bush, Eremophila freelingii. The Rock Fuchsia Bush.

A characteristic of this plant is that it sheds its lower leaves during drought to conserve moisture, you can see that quite clearly in the above photo, the plant looks half dead but it’s not! Grows to about 1.5 metres. The lilac flowers are stunning and are produced after it rains. Just a few more views below of this beautiful plant on the sides of Serpentine Gorge.

Funnily enough another surprise was what looked to be some type of Fern here as well and yes it was. Not sure of its identity but quite possibly Cheilanthes brownie , The Northern Rock Fern, either way still remarkable to me to see a fern out here. Nature is amazing.

Another interesting plant we saw was a parasite. Lysiana exocarpi , the Harlequin Mistletoe. This parasite is found mostly in inland locations and is very colourful.

Now we have made it back down and headed into the cool of the gorge, being winter it wasn’t hot out in the open so one could imagine how nice and cool it would be in the heat of summer.

In the above photo in the distance you can see some cycads, Macrozamia macdonnellii , the Macdonnell Ranges Cycad. Here they are below as well.

Ah well! That’s about it for the Serpentine Gorge, here’s a few last photos of plants and foliage.

Lets have some lunch, its been a great morning in the Macdonnell Ranges. Serpentine Gorge has been a truly magical experience.

Finally a last look into the gorge.

Cheers!

A trip to the Northern Territory. Part 7. Macdonnell Ranges-Serpentine Gorge Hi there! Heading west out of Alice Springs on Namatjira drive you are soon in the heart of the Macdonnell Ranges.

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godlessgeekblog · 5 years

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Why distant St Helena is reworking into a winter season sun hotspot

I am bobbing along beside a fish more substantial than a school bus, forward lies a boundless sea of maritime lifestyle, and I have a shark’s-eye perspective of the southern Atlantic Ocean. This is St Helena, the edge-of-the-earth British territory adrift off West Africa, and my adrenaline levels soar as I eyeball an absolutely gargantuan whale shark by my mask. It’s the initially time I have ever felt edible.

With the modern launch of flights to St Helena from Johannesburg – and later in the year from Cape City – the island’s breathtaking purely natural flora and fauna has found it dubbed the Fantastic British Galapagos and climb the checklist of will have to-see destinations.

The lush island is household to all the things from black-sand beach locations and Jurassic-period cloud forests to rolling plantations and twisty roadways. On land you can discover the world’s oldest huge tortoises (four of them), and at sea you will find a pod of 800 dolphins.

Jurassic planet: Astronomer Edmond Halley set up a marquee observatory on Diana’s Peak (pictured)

Gorgeous yr-spherical temperatures make the volcanic outpost a far-flung alternate to the Canaries or Cape Verde for winter sunshine, but there is also as much of the unfamiliar as there is of fish and chips and affordable beer.

Geographically, St Helena is about the dimension of Jersey and is an island with a break up persona. It just can’t make up its thoughts if it is British or Brazilian, Creole or Caribbean, with a tablespoon of Iceland thrown in.

All of its attributes – tropical, volcanic, mountainous and moonlike – can be identified in equal evaluate. This could reveal why Charles Darwin waxed lyrical about St Helena in his memoir The Voyage Of The Beagle, and why astronomer Edmond Halley set up a marquee observatory on Diana’s Peak. With zero gentle air pollution, the skies are a feast of massive, twinkling stars.

Program YOUR ROUTE

All streets in St Helena direct to the capital Jamestown (above), established in a deep gorge

Flights are now managing to St Helena from Johannesburg – and later on in the 12 months from Cape City

As aspect of the world’s most remotely inhabited archipelago, St Helena normally takes time to get to. The new airport was controversially designed with £285 million of Uk Federal government funding, but the start of commercial flights was delayed due to the fact of hazardous wind ailments.

Previously, people had to get a 4-day cruise from Cape City, but you however want to factor in the finest aspect of two times to get here from the United kingdom – like a stopover in South Africa. Hope impressive sights as you fly in – it is like landing in Jurassic Park.

The island observes GMT so you do not have to fret about jet-lag. Scheduled flights land only twice a 7 days, so you are going to have to devote a least of 4 days exploring and shifting down a gear to island pace. By the time you depart, you will be addressed like a nearby.

Dollars IS KING

British pounds and pence are approved, but a phrase of warning for those people made use of to contactless and credit rating cards. There is no ATM and global credit score playing cards are not applied. Indeed, St Helena is a throwback to the early 1960s when funds was king. If you want to withdraw extra money, there is a federal government-owned lender (with a £5 demand for every transaction), but the island is much less expensive than you may well visualize. Think £2 for a beer and £12 for a two-course meal.

The island is chain-no cost with no rapidly-food outlets. On the internet shopping is large (shipped in from Cape Town). There are small nearby shops and the odd souvenir outlet, but don’t count on to commit a whole lot of revenue.

Nearby Automobile Employ the service of

The island is decidedly run on 1st-title phrases, so you won’t locate Avis or Hertz – rather vehicle retain the services of comes from Brendan or Jeff. Set apart about £20 for every working day for a shoestring rental (sthelenatourism.com/car or truck-retain the services of). There’s no community transport, but taxis will get you on a tour of the island for about £25.

Meet THE SAINTS

The Saints, as locals connect with on their own, are a satisfied crowd, harmless in the expertise they’re 5,000-odd miles taken off from Britain’s problems, but they are truly pleased you have made the effort to come. They’ll bend about backwards to support. The new lawyer basic, Allen Cansick, pulls pints at The Consulate to assist out in the evening and every person appreciates the main of police as David.

If you pay a visit to Plantation Home (£10), the governor’s formal home, you could get to have afternoon tea with the Queen’s agent. If she’s not at home, befriend Jonathan, the estate’s 187-year-old big tortoise, who shuffles close to the front lawn.

Where by TO Remain

All streets in St Helena guide to the funds Jamestown, established in a deep gorge. In this article, Major Street functions as the island’s psychological barometer. On Monday early morning, it is buttoned-down and company-like, but by Friday afternoon, locals and Brit expats are stress-free with a beer outdoors The Common, The White Horse and Mule Lawn – the town’s three watering holes.

5 minutes absent you’ll locate The Consulate, a creaky 18th Century colonial bolthole decorated with sea charts, ship’s wheels, portraits of Nelson and adequate maritime memorabilia to sink HMS Victory (consulatehotelsainthelena.com).

Nightly entertainment will come from singalongs by the piano, but if you choose quieter contemplation, head for a seat on the wrought-iron balcony with a G&T.

Most important Road in Jamestown, St Helena. On Monday early morning, it is buttoned-down and small business-like, but by Friday afternoon, locals and Brit expats are enjoyable with a beer

Double rooms have period of time interiors to match the vibe and value from £200 a night, such as breakfast which is reassuringly common – eggs, bacon and pots of tea.

For the supreme in peace and tranquil, Bertrand’s Cottage is the former property of Napoleon’s proper-hand guy, Grand Marshal Henri-Gatien Bertrand (bertrandscottage.com). The French emperor was exiled on St Helena soon after the Battle of Waterloo, and Bertrand built a pretty retreat across the road from his master’s mansion, Longwood Property, which is now a beacon for French background-fans chasing Napoleon’s ghost (entry £10).

The three cosy rooms at Bertrand’s Cottage have splendid views throughout the island, like to Diana’s Peak, St Helena’s optimum level. Rooms price from £130, like breakfast of French omelette and croissant.

FOODIE Fun

Seafood in St Helena is a big offer. Tuna and wahoo are go-tos and the island’s cuisine is a fusion of tendencies and recipes from Britain, South East Asia and Africa. The most familiar are sesame-seared tuna or spicy fish cakes, scone-formed patties of tuna stomach and thickly sliced purple chilli.

Don’t miss out on the community black pudding (produced from rice as a substitute of grain) and ‘plo’, a a single-pot, open up-hearth cooked curry. Other unconventional specialities consist of tomato paste sandwiches, acknowledged as ‘bread ’n’ dance’ for their ubiquitous visual appeal at carnivals and city hall dances.

For an remarkable working experience, consume at the Mantis hotel (mantissthelena.com). Help you save it for your last night time and enjoy tasty smoked tuna pâté and local pork stomach.

In excess of at the world’s remotest distillery, prickly pear liquor is generated by Welsh expat Paul and a tour and tasting expenses £5. Then there is the unforeseen bounty of chocolatey St Helena coffee. It is produced with pure, eco-friendly-tipped bourbon arabica and can be observed in only two areas on the planet – at the St Helena Espresso Store, run by Sheffield pair Bill and Jill, or at Harrods (the place it is expenses £75 for every 100g).

Really do not Pass up

Settled by the East India Business in 1658, and used as the support station of the shipping globe for hundreds of years, St Helena is a attempted-and-examined survivor. The fortified walls, cannons and moat of Jamestown make it look like an impregnable, finishes- of-the-earth castle.

Huff and puff up the 699 stone techniques of Jacob’s Ladder, the remains of the company’s cargo-carrying cable railway, and you’ll be rewarded by an explosive sunset. Significant Knoll Fort, which dates from 1799, is really worth a take a look at, as is the Museum of St Helena (museumofsainthelena.org).

WILDLIFE Tours AND STARGAZING

Sea large: St Helena is the only area in the planet the place male and feminine whale sharks are spotted in such massive numbers

Unique: Pictured is a St Helena Waxbill, which is a smaller passerine hen and one of the island’s exclusive species

Did you know St Helena is the only position in the earth in which male and feminine whale sharks are spotted in such big quantities? In season, from January to late March, it is not unusual to see two dozen cavorting in the water as they migrate by means of the island’s shallow summertime waters.

On the way to Flagstaff Bay, you’re also probably to place the island’s resident 800-sturdy pod of pantropical dolphins. The charge of a half-day trip is about £20 per man or woman and in a land of amazing sightings, this is a standout moment (divesainthelena.com).

Skittish wire birds – all silver plumage and cartoon legs – are endemic and nest along with thronging populations of terns and petrels. Pack your binoculars and be ready to be stunned by a kaleidoscopic bustle of purple-billed tropicbirds, noddies, masked boobies and gibbering Indian mynas.

You are going to also get a likelihood to see the island’s 455 species of invertebrates, which include the fairytale-like blushing snail, golden leafhopper and Janich’s fungus weevil.

For anyone wanting to appear skywards at night time, stargazing tours are out there from Derek Richards of Island Photos (cost on application islandimages.co.sh).

Travel FACTS

British Airways (ba.com) flies from Heathrow to Johannesburg from £638 return and to Cape City from £744 return. Virgin Atlantic has flights to Johannesburg from £609 return. Return Airlink flights amongst St Helena and Johannesburg (flyairlink.com) value from £750. A support from Cape Town launches in December.

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