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ninjacat1515 · 3 years

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Illager Hunter - Chapter 1

( Fiadh meets her match when she incurs the wrath of another grandmother )

The night was cool and young as Fiadh rummaged around a cottage on the far outskirts of a town; looting whatever was valuable. Gold rings with precious gems, a beautiful pocket watch, and bottles of fine wine! Not a bad run at all! The cottage itself was spacious yet cozy, with a flower garden surrounding it. Shame it was so far from Matias’s castle, it would have made a fantastic guest house.

Paintings of an older woman with her family, were dotted about the home. The Pillager surmised this was the residence of a grandmother, though she was nowhere to be found. Fiadh was simply ravenous and there hadn’t even been much food in the pantry aside from jams and bread. Meh, she did not desire such things anyway. She was craving meat, per usual. Her sharp hearing picked up the sound of someone walking up the path towards the house. Turning her head, Fiadh peeked out and saw a young girl wearing a red hat.

She was clearly the same girl from most of the paintings, and had to be the granddaughter. How adorable! And what perfect timing! Fiadh wanted to have fun with her food, so she donned the grandmother’s sleeping cap and blew out the lanterns; hopping into the bed and pulling the covers up some. A knock came to the door.

“Come in, dearie!”

Jenny opened it, stepping into the surprisingly dark cottage. This was so strange, her grandma always kept a light on, especially if she was home! It made no sense but in she went anyways.

“Hey grandma. I brought you some gardening tools from the shop and made you a cake.”

“Such a hard working child! Come closer so I may give you a hug.”

Unease sparked in Jenny, so she traveled only halfway to the bed; maintaining distance and shaking.

“What’s the matter, sweetling?”

“Grandma, what big red eyes you have!”

“All the better to see you with!”

“You have such a big nose...”

“All the better to smell the blooming flowers!”

“Y-your teeth are so s-sharp!”

Fiadh chuckled darkly.

“All the better TO EAT YOU WITH!”

The Pillager sprang from the bed and lunged at Jenny, going right for her throat. But a garden trowel was shoved into her mouth and the human was now beating her over the head with a shovel.

“I’M NOT A FOOL!” *WHACK* “I KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG THE MOMENT I SET FOOT INSIDE HERE!” *WHACK, WHACK, WHACK*

“OW! WRETCHED BRAT!! OW!”

Fiadh snarled, seizing the handle of the shovel in her mouth and biting it in half; spitting out splinters. She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders as Jenny backed away, fear rising. The Pillager grinned once she realized the human was now cowering and she was back in control. She had the girl cornered now, and there would be no escape!.

“Now little lamb chop, where were we? It really is a shame your granny isn’t here, she could join the fun!” Fiadh grabbed Jenny’s arm, ignoring the pitiful blows to her person from the youngster. Her teeth were mere inches from the quivering arm and set to start tearing flesh from bone.

“OH GRANNY’S HERE ALRIGHT!!!”

A sledgehammer struck Fiadh in the face, sending her flying backwards into the wall. The Pillager was dazed with a broken nose and black eye. Fiadh roared as she squared off against the grandmother, who did not hesitate to strike her again to the side of the head this time, making her fall to the floor in a crumpled heap with a goofy expression on her face as she passed out.

“Take that you Illager bitch! Jenny, are you alright?!”

“Yes! I-I’m ok...”

“It’s dangerous to go up against them without a proper weapon, what were you thinking?? If in doubt, get to the trees and climb them!”

“I’m sorry grandma...”

“You’re alive, that’s what matters. Now...what do we do with that foul beast? We can’t kill her, the rest of her clan would take vicious revenge.”

Her gaze traveled to the rocks gathered from the river for gardening, and an idea formed.

“We can still teach her a nasty lesson, and she won’t be skulking around here anytime soon.”

Jenny and her grandmother moved the greedy monster to the woods, and bringing numbing potions and shears that would cut the toughest hide. They opened the Pillager’s stomach, placing rocks inside her. For good measure, granny removed the steel head of the sledgehammer and added that in as well.

She stitched Fiadh up, pouring over a wound potion that sealed the cut so it was as if it had never been made. Then they swiftly left as the Pillager gradually awoke.

Fiadh was confused and hurt everywhere, especially her head and stomach. How had she gotten out into the woods? Memories were fuzzy at best. She sat up, feeling full. Had she eaten the girl? There was no delicious taste of flesh and blood lingering in her mouth, and it felt as if metal and rocks were in her gut. The pain was unrelenting and Fiadh got to her feet, nerves frayed as much as her mind. Something was wrong and she needed to get home!

She wanted to get away from that town and that house. After looting and a meal, she should have felt great! She struggled to piece together events and growled at the bushes. The Pillager could have sworn she heard snickering there. Bah, all the more reason to get back to Matias. Fiadh stumbled and fell, hearing a dull clang in her body as she hit the ground.

It was not flesh and blood it her stomach, those human rats had done something sneaky!! She was livid as she got up again. Once the castle doctors had helped her, she and her husband along with an army would be paying that putrid town a visit. That granny and girl would be in dire straights and Fiadh would take her revenge. How dare they do this to her! Brazen fools would soon learn their error though.

Fiadh smiled as she walked along. Further into the woods, she slipped and tumbled into a muddy creek. Rising from the muck, she had an absolute tantrum.

#minecraft au

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galadrieljones · 4 years

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As You Were (Chapter 5)

Fandom: The Last of Us | Pairing: Joel x OC | Content: Fix-it | Rating: Mature

Masterpost

When Joel and Ellie take a wrong turn on their journey from Pittsburgh to Wyoming, they find themselves lost in, what feels like a time warp: a beautiful place with a dark and dangerous secret. While there, they meet Cici and Noah, a mother and son fighting tirelessly for survival, and who have recently endured a terrible tragedy on their family farm. Amidst their joint desire to find hope for the future, the two groups decide set out west together, changing the course of the story (as we know it), and the very course of their lives.

This is an AU, starting after the events of the Summer chapter in the first game, and extending into the timeline of the second game. Joel lives.

Chapter 5: Living Room Jam Session

"There are a million ways we should have died before today, and a million ways we can die before tomorrow. But we fight, for every second we get to spend with each other. Whether it's two minutes, or two days, we don't give that up. I don't wanna give that up."

That night, Cici went out to the circuit breaker next to the shed, and she switched on the electric fence. It worked after all.

“It’ll use up a lot of fuel,” she said to Joel. “But we can’t risk it.”

The farm was peaceful. Almost like nothing had ever happened. A couple cows had escaped, earlier that day. Joel had offered to help wrangle them, but Noah said don’t bother. “We can’t feed them anyway." He shrugged. He slaughtered a cow in the early evening. He showed Joel how to clean and butcher the meat, and how to salt and cure it for longer term use. They had steaks for dinner that night, prepared this time with a few potatoes, seasoned with dill from the garden, which was picked almost clean.

Joel was beginning to gather that their time on that farm was coming to a rapid conclusion. They couldn’t stay there, not much longer. If there were spores in the tributaries, that meant they could get into the water table, too. Cici and Noah knew this. They had been making four hour drives to the Fox River in Fon du Lac for several months now, bringing back water sourced from Green Bay. They said this was how they were able to trade for their fuel for the generators, from the Amish on the other side of the hill—making long drives to clean water. Even with the rain, they could no longer water their crops or sustain their livestock, and the Infected were becoming more of a threat every day. They had a lot of reserves, but it was only a matter of time before they ran out of food, or worse. Like Cici had said, him and Ellie showing up like they had, it was almost happenstance.

“I can get you your fuel tomorrow,” said Cici. They were still outside, leaning against a tree, looking at the circuit breaker. “You made good on your bargain. Thank you, Joel.”

Joel had got a big old cut on his forehead from the events down at the trench. She had patched it up for him with alcohol and gauze. Hadn’t made a fuss, just did it. “Cici, I know we ain’t known each other that long, but I ain’t leaving you and Noah here to deal with this all by yourselves.”

“You don’t owe us anything.”

“I know that,” said Joel. “And trust me, I been wrestling with it myself. But it don’t change anything.”

Cici straightened up off the tree and looked around. Her hair was down now, kind of tangly and windswept. Noah and Ellie were inside the house. “Noah said he told you about LaCrosse.”

Joel looked down at the grass as if to count the moonlit blades. “He didn’t go into a lot of detail,” he said. “But yes, he gave me the gist. Said your husband, he died in a fire. I’m sorry, Cici. I truly am.”

She just shrugged her shoulders. “We never got to find out, what’s been going on,” she said, blinking back tears. “We couldn’t stay, after it happened, and then we couldn’t go back.”

“Noah wants me to come with him,” said Joel. “Back. To LaCrosse. He asked me after dinner.”

“There’s no point,” she said. “There’s nothing we can do. Even if you find the source of the problem, the farm is too far gone to save.”

“I think it’s more about closure,” said Joel. “He didn’t say as much, but I get it. I told him I’d go. I hope I ain’t crossing any lines in doing so.”

She closed her eyes.

“Me and him are gonna head up tomorrow,” he went on. “I figure, the sooner the better. Shouldn’t take more than a couple days. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come with us, or if you'd be okay staying here, with Ellie. I don’t want to take her, because she’s just a kid, and she’s been through enough, and I don’t know what the hell we’re getting into up there, but I won’t leave her here alone.”

“It’s okay,” said Cici. She didn’t even try to argue. “I’ll stay. I don’t—I can’t go back there anyway.”

“Do y’all have anywhere to go?” said Joel. “I mean, aside from this farm? Noah mentioned family down in Moline. The I-80 runs right through there. I don’t know what we’ll find, but we could take you.”

Cici shook her head slowly, staring at the earth. “My sister-in-law was trying to get back there like six months ago. She said she’d come back for us, if it was all clear, but we never heard from her again.”

“I heard about some turf wars going on in the Quad Cities,” said Joel. “Just warning you. It was the kind of place too small for a QZ, but it was too big and too isolated to try and save. The military all but abandoned it. Now that was years ago. Things could have changed. Either way, it’s right on the Mississippi, so if your little problem extends into Illinois and Iowa, it probably ain’t gonna be pretty. But we can try.”

She took a deep breath, and she opened and closed her fists a couple times. She had little bones. She was small, but she wasn’t a weakling. “I wanna think about it.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go inside,” she said, pulling herself together. She had this way of tucking her hair behind her ears. It was like hitting a reset button or something. Truth be told, he was a little confounded by Cici. Not in a bad way. He just found it very hard to predict her, despite her seeming steadfastness, as a woman. “Ellie and Noah are into the vinyls," she went on. "Who knows what they’ve got playing in there.”

“You guys got a ton of records,” said Joel as they headed back to the porch in the moonlit grass. “What is it with that? You just collectors or something?”

“My husband was,” she said. “William. He used to say that if the apocalypse ever came, at least we’d still be able to listen to music.”

“Well, he was right,” said Joel.

The seemed to comfort her. He saw her almost smile, out the corner of his eye.

“What’s this band called again?” said Ellie. She was sitting on her knees on the floor, in the middle of a big old pile of records. Noah was on the floor nearby, sifting through the pile one-by-one. It had been a long time since he’d really taken inventory, since before his dad died.

He picked up the vinyl, examined it front and back. “The Wallflowers.”

“The Wallflowers?” said Ellie. “Weird name, but I like it.”

“Do you know what a wallflower is?”

“Uh,” said Ellie, “like a flower that…grows out of the wall?”

Noah was amused. “It’s a metaphor. It’s like, somebody who stands on the sidelines. They don’t really get in on the action.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” said Ellie.

“The singer for this band is Bob Dylan’s son.”

“Neat,” said Ellie. “Who’s Bob Dylan again?”

Noah started going through a stack on his left, where he kept the sixties stuff. “This guy,” he said.

“Ah,” said Ellie. “The Blowing in the Wind guy. Very cool.”

“Did you guys ever listen to music in the QZ?”

“Yeah,” said Ellie, “but we didn’t have records. And everything I wanted, I had to steal or trade for with my ration cards. It was like, music or food sometimes. I had a walkman though, so I would just listen to tapes.”

“Do you still have it?”

“No,” said Ellie. “It broke like a thousand miles ago.”

“Bummer,” said Noah.

“Pretty much.”

They listened to the song. It was called “Josephine.” I know you’ve been sad. I know I’ve been bad. But if you’d let me, I’d make you ribbons from a paper bag.

“What do you think this song is about?” said Ellie.

Noah thought about it, looking up at the ceiling. “I think it’s like, the end of a relationship,” he said. “The guy messed up, but he doesn’t feel like he’s good enough for Josephine anyway. He’s apologizing, and he knows he can’t get her back, but he still loves her. That’s what I get from it, but it sounds dumb as hell when I say it out loud.”

Ellie examined the sleeve. It was just a whole bunch of yellow stars on a black background. “It’s not dumb,” she said. “It’s just really sad. Why doesn’t he think he’s good enough?”

“I don’t know,” said Noah. “Why does anyone think anything?”

Ellie thought this was kind of funny. “Good point.”

“Let’s try this one,” said Noah.

He took the Wallflowers record off the platter, put a new record on.

“What’s this?” said Ellie. “Lightning Bolt. Pearl Jam? I think I’ve actually heard of these guys.”

“This one’s got a story behind it. You want to hear?”

Ellie straightened right up. “Hell yeah.”

“Okay,” said Noah, looking down at the sleeve. It was like this big, red eye, full of white lightning bolt decals. “So apparently like, this album was supposed to be released a few weeks after the day the outbreak officially hit in 2013. It got pushed back like everything else, and then the stores all closed and it just like, never happened. My dad had really been looking forward to it, so like six weeks after shit went dark, him and some guys went to a Best Buy up in Madison and looted all these unreleased vinyls from the warehouse.”

“Holy shit,” said Ellie. “That’s fucking awesome.”

“I know. He said he had to get by military guys and everything.”

“Dude, your dad was a total badass,” said Ellie. “You should be proud.”

At first Noah got quiet. Ellie hadn’t thought anything of it. She’d never had a dad, or a mom, or anyone to be proud of like that. She just thought it was so unbelievably rad that he had a story like this to tell other people, about his dad. Eventually, Noah smiled. She smiled along with him. He said, “There’s one song on here I like a lot.”

“Play it,” she said. “As long as it’s not about people breaking up. Because that shit sucks.”

“It’s not,” said Noah.

He set down the needle, and together, they listened.

The song was slow and beautiful, thought Ellie, but it grew. Piano—crisp and clean and rushing as the river—gave way to a man’s voice and the guitar, big as a boat. She sat without talking. She tucked her hands in her lap and looked down at her wrists. She closed her eyes and tried hard to let the music overwhelm her. It was hard for Ellie to let things overwhelm her. She wore heavy armor. She would make a joke. She would roll her eyes.

But this was different than the other song, thought Ellie. It was sad, maybe sentimental, but it was a good kind of sentimental. All the missing crooked hearts, they may die, but in us they live on. I believe. I believe 'cause I can see. Our future days. Days of you and me. It was strong, and it seemed to be about trying. Like, trying to be better, through the eyes of someone else. Loving, and being loved, even when it’s hard. You have to try. It put her back in time, almost to another universe, but she hammered it away. She liked this song much better than the last song. She wished to live inside the music.

When it ended, she looked at Noah, who was looking at the ceiling again, leaning back on his hands and listening, with intent. The song had filled the house with a purifying energy and brought it down, made it simple. The bad things that had happened that day, they were clean.

“That one was awesome,” said Ellie.

“Are you okay?” said Noah. He seemed like he was half-joking, but sort of earnest. It was enough joking to make her smile, but not too earnest to freak her out.

“Oh,” said Ellie, looking down at her shoe laces. “I’m fine. I just—these songs sort of remind me of someone I once knew. In another life I guess.”

Noah waited what seemed like a long time before he spoke again. He was mulling it over, with his elbows now resting on his knees. Then he said, “I get that.”

They played the song again. Then, they couldn’t take it anymore. They took it off and put on some emo shit by a band called Coldplay. It was kind of terrible, they agreed, but they listened anyway, as it was like a dream.

A little while later, Joel and Cici came back inside. Joel held the door for her and once they were in the living room, raised his eyebrows and made fun of the Coldplay.

“You guys okay in here?” he said. “Sounds like you made a wrong turn somewhere.”

“Oh, we’re great, Joel,” said Ellie. “You guys are seriously missing out on our jam session.”

“Ha,” said Cici.

Joel stretched and got real big, and then he leaned against the kitchen table. He seemed kind of faded, thought Ellie. He had that cut on his eye. He seemed very tired. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “I think I’m ready to head up. You wanna come Ellie, or you fixing to stay awake a while longer?”

Ellie got up and wiped her hands on her jeans. They’d gotten kind of dusty from handling all the vinyls. “I’ll come up,” she said. “I’m pretty wiped.”

“I’ll have breakfast ready early,” said Cici.

“Sounds fine,” said Joel.

“See you guys in the morning,” said Noah. He glanced up at Ellie then, as if thankful for something.

When they got upstairs, Ellie went to look in the mirror on the bureau and she took down her ponytail. Her hair felt like a rat’s nest. She started to brush it out, aggressively.

“Where’d you get that hair brush?” said Joel, taking his shoes off.

“Cici let me borrow it,” she said.

“Right,” said Joel. He put his face in his hands then, scrubbed them down his cheeks. “Ellie—"

She stopped mid-brush, turned around. “Noah told me about LaCrosse,” she said. “I wanna come.”

Joel took a deep breath, as this had caught him by surprise. “Ellie, no.”

“Well what the fuck?” she said. She set down the brush on the bureau, hard. “Why the hell not?”

He just took to staring at her. She wasn’t actually that mad, he thought, she just seemed genuine in her confusion. “Because,” he said. “I got no idea what we’re walking into up there.”

“Oh, but you did in Pittsburgh, when you drove us straight into a fucking trap?”

“That is beside the point.”

“How, Joel?” said Ellie. “Noah is only four years older than me. I can hold my own.”

“Those are four critical years, Ellie,” said Joel. He was trying not to raise his voice. “And honestly, it don’t matter whether you can hold your own, because this thing going on in, it ain’t about you. It ain’t about me neither. You understand? It’s about Noah atoning with his dad’s death. He needs help, and he asked me, and I am providing that for him.”

“I can help,” said Ellie.

“I know you two get along,” said Joel. “But you're helping most by staying put.”

“What about Cici? She doesn’t wanna go?”

Joel waved her off, started rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “No,” he said. “Cici’s made her peace. Or what’s left of it.”

“She doesn’t seem…at peace.”

“I didn’t say she was at peace. I just said she’s made her peace.” Ellie seemed to understand this, and now, he could tell she was just scared, of being left behind. “Look, Ellie,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t come. That’s the end of this conversation. But we’ll only be gone a couple nights. You got Cici with you. She might seem quiet, but I think she's pretty hardcore, and you two got the electric fence. Me and Noah, we’ll be okay.”

“I know,” said Ellie, like she was defending herself. She had flipped open her switch blade, was studying the tip. “I know.”

“We good then?” said Joel.

She hesitated, but then she closed up the knife and flopped back onto the bed. “Fine,” she said.

He was relieved.

“But then you better fucking bring something back for me.”

This surprised him. He gave her a look. “Bring something back?” he said. “Like a souvenir?”

“Yeah,” she said. “A souvenir.”

“A souvenir from LaCrosse?”

“You heard me.”

Joel tugged the covers back, was getting ready to crawl beneath. The day had become a heavy weight, all of it resting right on his eye lids. He was glad it was all okay. “All right,” he said, yawning. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“Good,” she said.

“Now get some goddam sleep.”

“Ay ay, cap’n.”

A few minutes went by. Joel was about ready to get under the covers for good when Ellie said, “I gotta pee.”

He looked at her. “Now?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Just—just be quick.”

“You think I wanna take my time peeing in that thing? Outhouses are like the one bad thing about this place. Other than the whole, contaminated-water part, I guess.”

Joel took a breath, told her he would leave his lamp on. “Just hurry, and turn the lamp down when you get back.”

“I will,” she said.

Ellie went pee in the outhouse and did her best not to make any sounds. When she got out, she didn't feel tired, so she went over and stood by the river like a detour. She did not plan on staying long. She just looked at it, right down into it, and then it blinked back at her like the little bitch it was, bubbling deceptively in the moonlight. She suddenly hated that something so innocent could also be so deadly, and so fucking sad. The night was cooling down but it was still humid. She switched open her knife and wiped the sweat from her forehead on the back of her hand. She switched her knife closed again, then open again. She tried thinking about anything else, but that stupid Pearl Jam song had awakened something inside her.

“I haven’t seen you in…in I don’t know how long,” she said.

"Forty-five days?” said Riley. She was nervous. “Well, forty-six. Technically. Wanna know what I’ve been up to?”

The rain outside was like a drum. Ellie didn’t care. “All this time,” she said. “I thought you were dead.”

Riley felt everything, but just like everybody else in the whole wide world, she couldn’t show it. “Yeah,” she said. And she took off the dog tag. “Here. Look.”

“God fucking dammit,” said Ellie. She was on her knees now, overcome by something, and she stabbed the knife into the river bank. “Stupid fucking bullshit. Fuck you.” She stabbed it again, and then she felt like a complete dumbass, put it away. She thought about crying but she stared back at the river instead. “Go away,” she said.

“Ellie?” said someone. It was Cici, she was calling out to her from the porch. It must have been too long. “Ellie, you okay?”

“Shit,” said Ellie. "I'm okay." She got up, frantic, and her knees were all wet from the river bank. “I'm okay. I'm coming."

"Just checking," said Cici.

When she got back up to their room, Joel was under the covers. The lamp was dim. He lie very still, on his side, facing the wall, and she stood watching him for a second to see if he'd roll over and scold her or something. But he seemed like he was sleeping, and she was relieved. She didn't know why she cared, but she did. So she turned down the lamp right away and tried to be as quiet as she could so as not to disturb him. She took off her shoes and set them down silently, one by one. Then she took her jeans off, too, hung them over the bedpost to dry. She only had the one pair. She got under the covers and pulled them up to her chin, trying to sink into the mattress, forcing her brain to shut the fuck up. Please. For once, just shut the fuck up. But then,

“'Night, Ellie,” said Joel. He had not moved, by the dim light of the moon coming through the window.

She was near on startled. His voice was really deep and it always filled the room no matter how quiet. “Oh, shit,” she said. “Sorry, Joel."

"That's okay," he said.

"‘Night, Joel.”

Days of you and me.

***

On the record player: “Josephine” by The Wallflowers, “Future Days” by Pearl Jam, “The Scientist” by Coldplay

#the last of us #tlou #the last of us 2 #tlou2 #joel tlou #ellie tlou #as you were #cw: animal death mention

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kattipatang · 7 years

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Day 6: Continuing on from the night of the 5th June, moving into the early hours of the 6th June, the battle increased in ferocity. According to General K.S. Brar, on June 6, around 4-30 a.m., thirty soldiers managed to get into the Akal Takhat, the ‘Immortal Throne’ which represents the highest seat of Sikh spiritual and political sovereignty. The fighting in the early hours of the morning of the 6th was ferocious, and eyewitnesses including soldiers and General K.S. Brar, testify that although desperately outnumbered the Sikh Fighters fought bravely and “to the last man.” The army ordered their tanks to fire upon the Akaal Takhat and due to the repeated explosions, the Akaal Takhat was reduced to rubble and the Sikh fighters inside died defending it. “Photographs of the shattered shrine indicate quite clearly that the Vijayantas 105 mm main armaments pumped high-explosive squash-head shells into the Akal Takht. Those shells were designed for use against hard targets like armour and fortifications. When the shells hit their targets, their heads spread or squash on to the hard surface. Their fuses are arranged to allow a short delay between the impact and the shells igniting, so that a shock-wave passes through the target. Lieutenant-General Jagjit Singh Aurora, who studied the front of the Akal Takht before it was repaired, reckoned that as many as eighty of these lethal shells, could have been fired into the shrine. The effect of this barrage on the Akal Takht was devastating. The whole of the front of the sacred shrine was destroyed, leaving hardly a pillar standing. Fires broke out in many of the different rooms blackening the marble walls and wrecking the delicate decorations dating from Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s time. They included marble inlay, plaster and mirror work, and filigree partitions. The gold-plated dome of the Akal Takht was also badly damaged by artillery fire.” Excerpted from “Amritsar – Mrs. Gandhi’s Last Battle”, (Ninth Ed. 1991). Brahma Chellaney reported: “At about 9 p.m. on 6th June, entire city of 700,000 was plunged into darkness by a power outage. Half an hour later, Amritsar was shaken by powerful shelling, mortar explosion and machine-gun fire. The big battle had begun. Half the city was up on rooftops watching the battle. Tracer bullets and flares lit up the sky. The explosions at the Golden Temple rattled doors and windows miles away. While the battle was raging, the state-run radio claimed that the city was ‘calm’. Between 10.30 p.m. and midnight, we heard slogans from city outskirts of villagers trying to march to the Golden Temple from three different directions. The slogans-’Long live the Sikh religion’ and ‘Bhindranwale is our leader’-were heard on each occasion and were followed by rapid army machine gun fire and screams.” Samiuddin, Abida (ed.); The Punjab Crisis: Challenge and Response (Delhi, 1985), page 62. The Sikh Fighters fought desperately; one of the officers said, “Boy what a fight they gave us. If I had three Divisions like that I would fuck the hell out of Zia (the President of Pakistan) any day.” Another, “I have seen a lot of action, but I can tell you I have never seen anything like this. [They were] pretty committed. They should have realised that they could not win against the army. If one weapon failed we brought another. When that failed we brought another”. A third put it more succinctly. “The bloody fellows would not let us in’” Excerpted from “Amritsar – Mrs. Gandhi’s Last Battle”, (Ninth Ed. 1991). The testimony of one of the pilgrims, explains why the fighters fought so desperately; “Bhai Amrik Singh (leading Sikh fighter) sent her a message urging her to leave the Temple Complex at once with her group in order to escape being dishonoured [raped] or being shot dead as ‘terrorists’ by the Army personnel, and also to survive to tell the true story of what happened inside the Golden Temple to the world outside.” She recalls the scenes that she saw when she stepped out of the room, where she and others were trying to survive the firing and bombing; “what did I see but piles of dead bodies, all stacked one over the other. At first I instinctively felt that I wouldn’t manage to go out. All I could see was a ceaseless mound of dead bodies. It seemed that all the persons who were staying in the Parikrama, not one of them had survived.” Source; Citizens for Democracy; Report to the Nation: Oppression in Punjab (Bombay, 1985). Unfortunately, the fears of the fighters came true, and when the resistance from the defenders had been overcome, the army killed with vengeance hundreds of pilgrims; “Grenades and poisonous gas shells were thrown at the men, women and children, who had locked themselves in the rooms, bathrooms and toilets of Guru Nanak Niwas, Guru Ram Das serai and Taja Singh Samundri Hall. Those who tried to come out were pierced with bayonets and shot dead. Some soldiers caught hold of small babies and children by their feet, lifted them up in the air and then smashed them against the walls thus breaking their skulls.” Harminder Kaur; Blue Star Over Amritsar (Delhi, 1990). “The civilians who died, about 1500 of them, were piled in trolleys and carried away. A lot of them were thrown into the rivers. The battle was a tragic one. I couldn’t eat anything. Food made me sick. I used to just drink lots of rum and go to sleep.” The account of a Naik (Corporal) of Kumaon Regiment who participated in Blue Star as quoted in Probe India, August, 1984. “The army stormed Teja Singh Samundri hall and the rooms in the Parkarma and behaved liked savages, they raped women, looted, killed children, burnt people alive, set the rooms on fire and tied the hands of devotees behind their backs and shot them.” Eyewitness account of Bibi Pritam Kaur, whose husband and 18 month baby was shot dead. Video interview (available online), interview transcript, reprinted in Punjab Times. “It was a virtual massacre. A large number of women, children and pilgrims were gunned down.” As reported by The Guardian on 13th June 1984. Caption from nsyf.org.uk

#Sikh #Sikh Genocide #never forget 1984 #never forget 84 #operation blue star

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damn-daryldixon-imagines · 7 years

Text

Blindsided

Your name: submit What is this?

Request: Can you do one where Daryl x reader get into a big fight, and reader goes on a risky run to piss Daryl off and Daryl chases after her and the group she goes with and sees her get blindsided by a zombie and gets bit? You haven't had a reader die yet. Maybe this can be a first?

Song: I Found by Amber Run

A/N: I promise that the others will be up this week! Enjoy!!

“Fuck you, Daryl,” you growled through gritted teeth, anger radiating from your body. Your eyes were full of flames, daring him to say another word and jump into that fire of yours.

“Y/N, you’re too goddamn stubborn! Why do you have to be such a bitch?” Daryl yelled, not bothering to obscure his voice from the group within the prison. “You’re too weak to be goin’ on a damn run. You’re stayin’ and that’s final.”

You let a scoff escape your throat. Just because you had a few cuts, you couldn’t leave? How wrong he was. “I’ll go if I fucking want to. You have no authority over me! You’re my boyfriend, not my father.” As you spit out those words, you walked out of the cell, not bothering to hear anything else.

Wordlessly, you grabbed your knives and joined the group of Glenn, Michonne, some of the new people and Rick by the cars. You could feel their stares on you, curious as to what you and your boyfriend were screaming about but you kept your eyes straight ahead.

The run was risky. Your group had scouted the grocery store, seeing that it hadn’t been looted yet. The need for basic things like soap and extra food outweighed the dangers of anything that awaited you.

Your mind kept drifting back to your’s and Daryl’s fight. It was one of the few times large amounts of anger were aimed at you. You loved him so unbelievably much, it hurt to think of being with anyone else, even if you did fight. The fight had started because he cared about your wellbeing, too much sometimes, if you admitted it. It hurt that he called you weak, but you knew that he was on the defense, ready to break down every emotional stability that stood inside you. And today, he made them topple over. Tears pricked at your eyes as you attempted to steer your mind from the fight.

It wasn’t long before you were met with the large structure of the store. The cars halted and everyone started to retreat from them. It was go time.

Daryl knew that he was out of line. He knew that you were very capable of handling yourself. But that didn’t stop his strong urges to protect you from every danger that was outside the fence. He would wrap himself around you like a blanket, if it meant you would be safe from every sorrow, every threat, every walker.

After pacing in your shared cell, his love for you drew him to his bike, set on finding his girl, safe and sound.

The ride was excruciating, his worry swelling every time he thought about you getting harmed. You were his absolute everything. He relied on you, you saved him in so many ways. Daryl felt like your love could heal his broken down self as soon as your eyes met.

As soon as he arrived, he shut off his engine and sprinted to the building. He could hear the stabbing of the walkers, the blood splattering on the ground. He saw the group fighting for their lives, all surrounded by the undead, killing them one at a time.

And then he saw you.

You were alone, fighting off the walkers, lodging your knife into their skulls. But what you couldn’t see was that a walker had crept up behind you.

Daryl felt himself scream your name, he could feel himself running towards you, stabbing every walker in the way.

In all his years, Daryl had been abused, had seen the worst things, had to kill his own brother. But absolutely nothing could have prepared him for that moment. A walker sank it’s teeth into your shoulder as you took down the last walker. A scream fell from your lips as Daryl killed the creature that bit the only reason he was alive. He saw you fall to the ground and caught you in his arms before you had a chance to hit the floor.

Tears were pouring from his eyes as he cradled you close to him.

“We can amputate your arm,” he said shakily, “you’ll be fine, you’ll be okay. You’re not gonna die on-”

“Daryl.” You said the word so softly, he almost didn’t hear it. Your beautiful eyes were swimming in saltwater. “Daryl, I’m going to die.”

Daryl shook his head, about to refuse when you continued speaking. “Please let me go,” you sobbed, “I need you to move on and live for me. You were the best thing I’ve ever had in my life, thank you.” Tears were falling steadily from the eyes of both the hunter and his dying girlfriend. Daryl was sobbing, cries of pure sorrow escaped his unsteady body. He couldn’t lose you, not after all he’d been through.

“I love you, Daryl Dixon,” you whispered. A last exhale left your body and you fell limp in his arms.

“Y/N,” Daryl cried, “No, no, no! Wake up! Please just come back.” He sobbed out the last words quietly, clutching your body against his beating heart. Daryl felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. The light of his life, his Y/N, was dead, gone. Memories of you and him flashed through his mind, not leaving one untouched as saltwater fell from his eyes like rivers. You couldn’t be dead, this was just another nightmare. He’d wake up to you sleeping peacefully in his arms, a light sigh escaping you as your eyes began to flutter. He’d wake up and you’d be there to kiss him and mumble a good morning. He’d wake up and you’d be alive.

But deep down, he knew that he’d never see you again. He’d never kiss you again. He’d never see your smile again. He’d never be happy again. Anything good in his life faded in that moment. His joy left with that last breath of air you took. He knew that nothing would ever be the same.

Tremors ran through his body and sorrow fell from his eyes to his cheek as he whispered, “I love you too, Y/N.”

#daryl x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl imagine #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #twd negan #rick x reader #Lori Grimes #Rick Grimes #richonne #the walking dead imagine

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

Sansa

When Ser Lancel Lannister told the queen that the battle was lost, she turned her empty wine cup in her hands and said, "Tell my brother, ser." Her voice was distant, as if the news were of no great interest to her.

"Your brother's likely dead." Ser Lancel's surcoat was soaked with the blood seeping out under his arm. When he had arrived in the hall, the sight of him had made some of the guests scream. "He was on the bridge of boats when it broke apart, we think. Ser Mandon's likely gone as well, and no one can find the Hound. Gods be damned, Cersei, why did you have them fetch Joffrey back to the castle? The gold cloaks are throwing down their spears and running, hundreds of them. When they saw the king leaving, they lost all heart. The whole Blackwater's awash with wrecks and fire and corpses, but we could have held if—"

Osney Kettleblack pushed past him. "There's fighting on both sides of the river now, Y'Grace. It may be that some of Stannis's lords are fighting each other, no one's sure, it's all confused over there. The Hound's gone, no one knows where, and Ser Balon's fallen back inside the city. The riverside's theirs. They're ramming at the King's Gate again, and Ser Lancel's right, your men are deserting the walls and killing their own officers. There's mobs at the Iron Gate and the Gate of the Gods fighting to get out, and Flea Bottom's one great drunken riot."

Gods be good, Sansa thought, it is happening, Joffrey's lost his head and so have I. She looked for Ser Ilyn, but the King's Justice was not to be seen. I can feel him, though. He's close, I'll not escape him, he'll have my head.

Strangely calm, the queen turned to his brother Osfryd. "Raise the drawbridge and bar the doors. No one enters or leaves Maegor's without my leave."

"What about them women who went to pray?"

"They chose to leave my protection. Let them pray; perhaps the gods will defend them. Where's my son?"

"The castle gatehouse. He wanted to command the crossbowmen. There's a mob howling outside, half of them gold cloaks who came with him when we left the Mud Gate."

"Bring him inside Maegor's now."

"No!" Lancel was so angry he forgot to keep his voice down. Heads turned toward them as he shouted, "We'll have the Mud Gate all over again. Let him stay where he is, he's the king—"

"He's my son." Cersei Lannister rose to her feet. "You claim to be a Lannister as well, cousin, prove it. Osfryd, why are you standing there? Now means today."

Osfryd Kettleblack hurried from the hall, his brother with him. Many of the guests were rushing out as well. Some of the women were weeping, some praying. Others simply remained at the tables and called for more wine. "Cersei," Ser Lancel pleaded, "if we lose the castle, Joffrey will be killed in any case, you know that. Let him stay, I'll keep him by me, I swear—"

"Get out of my way." Cersei slammed her open palm into his wound. Ser Lancel cried out in pain and almost fainted as the queen swept from the room. She spared Sansa not so much as a glance. She's forgotten me. Ser Ilyn will kill me and she won't even think about it.

"Oh, gods," an old woman wailed. "We're lost, the battle's lost, she's running." Several children were crying. They can smell the fear. Sansa found herself alone on the dais. Should she stay here, or run after the queen and plead for her life?

She never knew why she got to her feet, but she did. "Don't be afraid," she told them loudly. "The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city. There's thick walls, the moat, the spikes . . . "

"What's happened?" demanded a woman she knew slightly, the wife of a lesser lordling. "What did Osney tell her? Is the king hurt, has the city fallen?"

"Tell us," someone else shouted. One woman asked about her father, another her son.

Sansa raised her hands for quiet. "Joffrey's come back to the castle. He's not hurt. They're still fighting, that's all I know, they're fighting bravely. The queen will be back soon." The last was a lie, but she had to soothe them. She noticed the fools standing under the galley. "Moon Boy, make us laugh."

Moon Boy did a cartwheel, and vaulted on top of a table. He grabbed up four wine cups and began to juggle them. Every so often one of them would come down and smash him in the head. A few nervous laughs echoed through the hall. Sansa went to Ser Lancel and knelt beside him. His wound was bleeding afresh where the queen had struck him. "Madness," he gasped. "Gods, the Imp was right, was right . . . "

"Help him," Sansa commanded two of the serving men. One just looked at her and ran, flagon and all. Other servants were leaving the hall as well, but she could not help that. Together, Sansa and the serving man got the wounded knight back on his feet. "Take him to Maester Frenken." Lancel was one of them, yet somehow she still could not bring herself to wish him dead. I am soft and weak and stupid, just as Joffrey says. I should be killing him, not helping him.

The torches had begun to burn low, and one or two had flickered out. No one troubled to replace them. Cersei did not return. Ser Dontos climbed the dais while all eyes were on the other fool. "Go back to your bedchamber, sweet Jonquil," he whispered. "Lock yourself in, you'll be safer there. I'll come for you when the battle's done."

Someone will come for me, Sansa thought, but will it be you, or will it be Ser Ilyn? For a mad moment she thought of begging Dontos to defend her. He had been a knight too, trained with the sword and sworn to defend the weak. No. He has not the courage, or the skill. I would only be killing him as well.

It took all the strength she had in her to walk slowly from the Queen's Ballroom when she wanted so badly to run. When she reached the steps, she did run, up and around until she was breathless and dizzy. One of the guards knocked into her on the stair. A jeweled wine cup and a pair of silver candlesticks spilled out of the crimson cloak he'd wrapped them in and went clattering down the steps. He hurried after them, paying Sansa no mind once he decided she was not going to try and take his loot.

Her bedchamber was black as pitch. Sansa barred the door and fumbled through the dark to the window. When she ripped back the drapes, her breath caught in her throat.

The southern sky was aswirl with glowing, shifting colors, the reflections of the great fires that burned below. Baleful green tides moved against the bellies of the clouds, and pools of orange light spread out across the heavens. The reds and yellows of common flame warred against the emeralds and jades of wildfire, each color flaring and then fading, birthing armies of short-lived shadows to die again an instant later. Green dawns gave way to orange dusks in half a heartbeat. The air itself smelled burnt, the way a soup kettle sometimes smelled if it was left on the fire too long and all the soup boiled away. Embers drifted through the night air like swarms of fireflies.

Sansa backed away from the window, retreating toward the safety of her bed. I'll go to sleep, she told herself, and when I wake it will be a new day, and the sky will be blue again. The fighting will be done and someone will tell me whether I'm to live or die. "Lady," she whimpered softly, wondering if she would meet her wolf again when she was dead.

Then something stirred behind her, and a hand reached out of the dark and grabbed her wrist.

Sansa opened her mouth to scream, but another hand clamped down over her face, smothering her. His fingers were rough and callused, and sticky with blood. "Little bird. I knew you'd come." The voice was a drunken rasp.

Outside, a swirling lance of jade light spit at the stars, filling the room with green glare. She saw him for a moment, all black and green, the blood on his face dark as tar, his eyes glowing like a dog's in the sudden glare. Then the light faded and he was only a hulking darkness in a stained white cloak.

"If you scream I'll kill you. Believe that." He took his hand from her mouth. Her breath was coming ragged. The Hound had a flagon of wine on her bedside table. He took a long pull. "Don't you want to ask who's winning the battle, little bird?"

"Who?" she said, too frightened to defy him.

The Hound laughed. "I only know who's lost. Me."

He is drunker than I've ever seen him. He was sleeping in my bed. What does he want here? "What have you lost?"

"All." The burnt half of his face was a mask of dried blood. "Bloody dwarf. Should have killed him. Years ago."

"He's dead, they say."

"Dead? No. Bugger that. I don't want him dead." He cast the empty flagon aside. "I want him burned. If the gods are good, they'll burn him, but I won't be here to see. I'm going."

"Going?" She tried to wriggle free, but his grasp was iron.

"The little bird repeats whatever she hears. Going, yes."

"Where will you go?"

"Away from here. Away from the fires. Go out the Iron Gate, I suppose. North somewhere, anywhere."

"You won't get out," Sansa said. "The queen's closed up Maegor's, and the city gates are shut as well."

"Not to me. I have the white cloak. And I have this." He patted the pommel of his sword. "The man who tries to stop me is a dead man. Unless he's on fire." He laughed bitterly.

"Why did you come here?"

"You promised me a song, little bird. Have you forgotten?"

She didn't know what he meant. She couldn't sing for him now, here, with the sky aswirl with fire and men dying in their hundreds and their thousands. "I can't," she said. "Let me go, you're scaring me."

"Everything scares you. Look at me. Look at me."

The blood masked the worst of his scars, but his eyes were white and wide and terrifying. The burnt corner of his mouth twitched and twitched again. Sansa could smell him; a stink of sweat and sour wine and stale vomit, and over it all the reek of blood, blood, blood.

"I could keep you safe," he rasped. "They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them." He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. "Still can't bear to look, can you?" she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. "I'll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said." His dagger was out, poised at her throat. "Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray, stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day. Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray, soothe the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way.

She had forgotten the other verses. When her voice trailed off, she feared he might kill her, but after a moment the Hound took the blade from her throat, never speaking.

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.

When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. The sky outside was darker by then, with only a few pale green ghosts dancing against the stars. A chill wind was blowing, banging the shutters. Sansa was cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering.

How long she stayed there she could not have said, but after a time she heard a bell ringing, far off across the city. The sound was a deep-throated bronze booming, coming faster with each knell. Sansa was wondering what it might mean when a second bell joined in, and a third, their voices calling across the hills and hollows, the alleys and towers, to every corner of King's Landing. She threw off the cloak and went to her window.

The first faint hint of dawn was visible in the east, and the Red Keep's own bells were ringing now, joining in the swelling river of sound that flowed from the seven crystal towers of the Great Sept of Baelor. They had rung the bells when King Robert died, she remembered, but this was different, no slow dolorous death knell but a joyful thunder. She could hear men shouting in the streets as well, and something that could only be cheers.

It was Ser Dontos who brought her the word. He staggered through her open door, wrapped her in his flabby arms, and whirled her around and around the room, whooping so incoherently that Sansa understood not a word of it. He was as drunk as the Hound had been, but in him it was a dancing happy drunk. She was breathless and dizzy when he let her down. "What is it?" She clutched at a bedpost. "What's happened? Tell me!"

"It's done! Done! Done! The city is saved. Lord Stannis is dead , Lord Stannis is fled, no one knows, no one cares, his host is broken, the danger's done. Slaughtered, scattered, or gone over, they say. Oh, the bright banners! The banners, Jonquil, the banners! Do you have any wine? We ought to drink to this day, yes. It means you're safe, don't you see?"

"Tell me what's happened!" Sansa shook him.

Ser Dontos laughed and hopped from one leg to the other, almost falling. "They came up through the ashes while the river was burning. The river, Stannis was neck deep in the river, and they took him from the rear. Oh, to be a knight again, to have been part of it! His own men hardly fought, they say. Some ran but more bent the knee and went over, shouting for Lord Renly! What must Stannis have thought when he heard that? I had it from Osney Kettleblack who had it from Ser Osmund, but Ser Balon's back now and his men say the same, and the gold cloaks as well. We're delivered, sweetling! They came up the roseroad and along the riverbank, through all the fields Stannis had burned, the ashes puffing up around their boots and turning all their armor grey, but oh! the banners must have been bright, the golden rose and golden lion and all the others, the Marbrand tree and the Rowan, Tarly's huntsman and Redwyne's grapes and Lady Oakheart's leaf. All the westermen, all the power of Highgarden and Casterly Rock! Lord Tywin himself had their right wing on the north side of the river, with Randyll Tarly commanding the center and Mace Tyrell the left, but the vanguard won the fight. They plunged through Stannis like a lance through a pumpkin, every man of them howling like some demon in steel. And do you know who led the vanguard? Do you? Do you? Do you?"

"Robb?" It was too much to be hoped, but . . .

"It was Lord Renly! Lord Renly in his green armor, with the fires shimmering off his golden antlers! Lord Renly with his tall spear in his hand! They say he killed Ser Guyard Morrigen himself in single combat, and a dozen other great knights as well. It was Renly, it was Renly, it was Renly! Oh! the banners, darling Sansa! Oh! to be a knight!"

#ClashofKings

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