Orionsstarlight - SmeeHee

Frodo: Sam hates Gollum, but that is what I shall become once I have lost myself to the ring… he’ll despise me… 

Sam if Frodo did turn into a Gollum: That’s a very nice fish you caught with your bare hands, Mr. Frodo, and its very smart of you to eat it raw, saves us the trouble of starting a fire. I knitted you a sweater in case you get cold running around in that loincloth of yours. Is the sun hurting your eyes? I’ll kill it if it’s bothering you. I’ll kill the sun

Forget Me

"If you go near that redneck again, I'll kill him and make you watch."    

She had nothing. 

Now she had everything and she’d never been more scared. Now she had things to lose and she knew it would.    

When her past comes back to haunt her, Lucy is torn. She's found somewhere to belong and her past threatens to shatter all of that because if he can't have her, no one can. 

Chapter 1

The sun kissing my skin, the grass stroking my cheek, the pleasant sound of children screaming and laughing, their little feet thudding on metal and tarmac. Mummies and nannies reading or chatting or chasing an unruly child around the park. A bright, wonderful day. My belly full of whiskey, my lungs full of smoke, my head cloudy with inebriation. I smile, closing my eyes to doze off in the grass.

Screams. Real screams. Screams of terror. I open my eyes, sitting up. I wish I'd kept them closed. My euphoria is shattered at the scene I look upon, worse than any horror movie. The sky darkening, fat black storm clouds settling over. Children screaming. Women screaming. I'm paralyzed. I can't process what I'm seeing. These people, these things were eating the children.

I wake sweating, panting to catch my breath. The branches and leaves rustle under my weight and sudden movement and I'm glad of the belt around the branch holding me in place. One more day breathing, one more night of unrest. From my thigh pack, I light a cigarette, inhaling deeply to calm my shot nerves. Unbuckling myself, I redo my belt around me, gather my things and climb down out of the tree. Landing on the ground, I take in my surroundings, standing still, listening carefully, an arrow already notched to my long black recurve bow. Silence, just the sound of the breeze rustling in the trees.

I start walking, heading to a bed of water I know is near by. I spot the first wendy of the day. What was once a woman is now a rotten mess. Chunks of what was probably once beautiful long blonde hair cling to her scalp, her red flowery dress filthy and torn. She walks at a funny angle, her ankle snapped, the bone poking out. She turns to me and half of her face has been raked away, her teeth showing through her cheek, her eye socket empty yet still glaring at me with that blank stare that soon becomes excitement at the thought of fresh meat. My arrow flies swiftly through the air and with a thud she hits the ground. I collect my arrow on the way passed, a slosh of bone and flesh as I pull it from her skull and keep walking.

I stoop down at the waters edge, casting a wary eye. Wendies can't cross water but they sure as hell try. I've seen someone dragged down and made mince meat out of by a Wendy stuck in the water bed. I fill a water bottle from my pack and add the appropriate drops of iodine. As I kneel there, I catch my reflection in the water. Bright green eyes look back at me from bruised looking sockets, stark against the porcelain paleness of my skin. I've been back in Georgia must be coming up nine years and I still can't tan. I just seem to reflect the sun rather than take it in. My bruised eyes, they're only from lack of sleep. I don't think anyone left alive sleeps anymore. Constantly on edge, poised and ready for an attack at any moment... Wendies are always there, always waiting, shuffling on and you're their target. We're all just victims waiting to happen, you let your guard down for a second and poof. That's you. Game over.

I don't know what's more depressing, nightmares of the life I live now or nightmares of the life I used to live.

A sickening crack as my blade pierces the wendies skull, it uttering a last moan as I pull my knife free and it sinks to the ground. I wipe the gore from the blade on the soil and I stare at the chunks of cerebral matter now being wiped away. Was this piece your hopes? This your dreams? Your pride? Your capacity to love? I shake my head violently. I shouldn't think like that. These things aren't people any more. I'm starting to doubt they ever were.

I shield my eyes and peek at the sun. It's just passed it's highest point so it must be just after noon. I put away my knife in my belt and pull my bow from around me, notching an arrow from my quiver to the string. I take a slow silent tread, keeping my eyes peeled for any movement.

I have to keep making my eyes focus, shaking my head constantly. I've been feeling lousy and light-headed for days. I haven't been bit and I haven't been scratched so I know I'm not about to pop my clogs and become a wendy anytime soon but it's alarming none the less.

An hour passes before I catch a sign of life but there they are. Two squirrels scampering up a tree are suddenly on the ground, an arrow in each of them. I pull the arrows free from their small eye sockets. Not only is it the most humane way to kill them, but it also saves the meat. Not that there's much meat on a squirrel but well, beggars can't be choosers. I'm surprised at them being so low to the ground but squirrels gotta eat too. Generally these days they hide in the trees, far from the wendies who I am in constant competition with for the little buggers. However to be fair to the squirrels, they give me warning sometimes, they scatter faster than pins at the bowling when they hear a wendy. Their sense of smell and hearing is better than mine and who could mistake death and decay in the air, the sound of nashing teeth.

I creep along, hoping my luck holds and I catch another squirrel. The Georgia air is stifling and sweat trickles over my skin. I pause at what sounds like two coins clicking and I smile. I step lightly forward and spot the squirrel with his nut in a small clearing. I spread my legs, pull back my arrow and let out a careful slow breath before releasing my bow. It makes a soft thud as it kills it instantly. I put another arrow to my string just in case and approach slowly. My eyes flick back and forth as I bend to pick it up, stiffening in the breeze. The soft wind brings with it the unmistakable smell of sweet sweat. Wendies don't sweat, humans do. I pause, mid bend. Whoever they are, they're close, close enough for that smell to linger. If they meant me harm, they would've done it by now. I was unawares a moment ago. They could've shot me or whatever then. Or they haven't seen me yet. Impossible, my blonde hair is like a red flag here in the open. So I take the arrow from the squirrel, placing it in my quiver and pick up the squirrel, tying it to my belt beside the other two.

"You gonna say something?" I ask softly and stand up straight, looking expectantly in the direction the scent came from. To their credit, they don't flinch at the sound of my voice. I stare for a few moments and I'm about to turn away when they speak.

"That was mine," A deep rough voice wrapped in a southern accent, thick and honey like. A man steps out into the clearing, a crossbow in his hands. He's muscled, toned, wiry like a hare. Chiseled arms visible by the torn off sleeves on his checked shirt. Messy brown hair in a rough cut, his fringe plastered to his forehead. He's unshaven and dirty, but I don't suppose I'm any cleaner. He's glowering at me. He doesn't like to be surprised. Huh, that's rich coming from the guy who was watching me.

"Better call the Ranger then because as far as I can see it's my arrow, my kill, my dinner," I state and he scowls at me. I scowl back and we glare at each other before he looks away huffing. I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something else. He looks back to me and I'm startled when the sun flashes in his eyes. They're like the oceans of Neptune staring at me. Actually glaring is the better way to describe it. Hostile son of a bitch. I harden my features, cursing myself for being distracted by his stupid pretty eyes.

"Well since we've established this is mine..." I say and start to turn away again.

"Happened to your arm?" He asks, stopping me in my tracks and nodding at the sodden bandage wrapped around my bicep. I bristle visibly.

"It's not a bite if that's what you mean," I snap and he just stares at me, waiting for an answer. I sigh.

"Busted myself up running from a hell of a lot of wendies. Slipped down a verge, almost broke my bow," I say thoughtfully, rubbing my arm gently.

"Why's it still bleeding?"

"Needs stitches. I just had to bandage it up and hope for the best," I shrug and he shuffles, clearing his throat.

"You alone?" My hesitation gives away that I am, so I don't try to lie. I stay silent instead.

"There's a group of us," He starts,

"That's nice, good for you, snaps for the redneck," I say sarcastically, my heart thudding in my chest. Fuck. Fuck. I need to get outta here, right now.

"Forget it," He snaps and I raise my bow. Surprised he tries to raise his crossbow but I've already released my arrow. It just brushes his cheek before piercing the wendy's skull and it hits the floor a few steps behind him. Daryl looks behind him as I lower my bow and looks back at me, hostile confusion written all over his face. I stare back at him before brushing past, unable to stare into his piercing blue eyes any longer. I retrieve my arrow with a slosh of flesh and I wipe the blood on the ground. He's still there, staring at me when I turn around. I bite my lip, looking away.

"Well, I couldn't let it bite you," I mutter, answering the questioning look on his face. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the burning in my cheeks, closing my eyes to the wave of dizziness. What the hell did I do that for? I should've let it eat him! In fact I shouldn't be here at all, I should be long gone, off into the woods, away from him and his group. I have no idea what kind of group that is and I've seen more bad than good in my wanderings. I glance at him before turning to walk away and he grabs my wrist. Fear spikes in my veins as I burl around to face him and he releases me instantly.

"Wait," He says and I try to control my face. Be vicious looking, terrifying looking. Don't let him know you're scared. I carefully arrange my facial expression into one of utter hostility. He licks his lips, nervously glancing away.

"Lemme fix that," He points at my arm. I'm surprised and I force a sickly smile on my face.

"It's ok, really, I'll be fine," I say and I can't hide the fear in my tone. I inwardly curse myself. He looks at me hard for a moment.

"I'm not like that. The group isn't like that," He reassures me in a harsh tone, clearly insulted and embarrassed.

"Would you just come? Someone will fix that,"

"Someone?"

"Well I sure as hell don't know how," He says and I can't help it, I give a little laugh. He visibly relaxes a little when I laugh.

"Why would they do that? They don't know me," I say and he pauses, thinking carefully.

"They're good people,"

The smart things would be to walk away. Get the hell out of here, far from this area, from this man and his group. Instead, I find myself nodding once and following him into the woods.

I shake my head hard, pressing a hand to my head. The guy looks at me and I take away my hand, not wanting to show weakness on his home turf. I feel sick, really sick. A rush of blood to my head and I stand still, closing my eyes to the spinning.

"You ok?"

"Shut up," I snap, still keeping my eyes closed and clutching my head. I swallow repeatedly, trying desperately to get back to normal, to make everything stop spinning. A massive rush of blood runs up my spine straight to the back of my head and I hit the deck.

* * * * *

The whiskey makes a reappearance as I vomit the contents of my stomach. I spit, heaving, dragging my eyes up to see one of those things coming right at me. I stagger to my feet, taking off running.

Sprinting through my sleepy town, I'm surrounded by the sounds of screams, gunfire, shouting, smashes. I keep running in a state of shock, things passing by in a blur. People. People dying. People getting back up again. Dead people getting back up again. Flesh hungry monsters with no discrimination for who or what they stuff in their mouths.

I'm floored by a man, what was once a man, half the flesh from his face hanging off, blood down his shirt. I scramble away, panic spiking in my veins as he gets to his feet, launching himself at me. I grapple with him, resisting the urge to scream when I manage to push him off, getting to my feet and taking off running again.

It happens once more. With a crowbar I steal from a dead mans fingers, I hit the thing, over and over until I drive it into it's eye, which stops it in it's tracks, hitting the ground. Looking at her, my heart stops. My boss. My work boss. I dry heave, nothing left in my stomach to bring up. I'm covered in her blood. Covered in human blood.

I wake up with a jerk, groaning as I blink my eyes to the soft light, closing them again. Nightmares. Always nightmares. I shiver as it replays in my mind. When I can finally open my eyes, they widen as I take in my surroundings. It looks like I'm in an RV. I sit silent. How the fuck did I end up here? I sit up quietly, making as little noise as possible, letting out a small yelp as I try to put weight on my arm. I look at it surprised. The bandage is clean and fresh, with no sign of any more blood. It's been bleeding for days. I can look at it later, right now I need my bow or at the very least my gun which are nowhere to be seen, not even my pouch. I knew it. Good people my ass. Stupid pretty eyes. I throw my legs around and try to get up, sitting back down with a moan as I almost throw up.

"Hey," A man enters, speaking softly. He's dressed in a sheriffs uniform, matching shades of brown with a wide brim hat. I watch him apprehensively as he approaches me slowly, treating me like a wild animal as he takes off his hat and lays it carefully on the counter, offering me a soft smile. With his hat off, I can see the colour of his eyes and they're the same perfect pale blue on a  cloudless day in June.

"My name is Rick, Rick Grimes. I used to be a sheriff before all this started. I'm not gonna hurt you. Daryl brought you here after you passed out. Are you ok?" He speaks carefully, his voice soft and calming. I manage a small nod.

"We took your squirrels, I hope you don't mind. We'll share dinner though,"

"Bit late now if I did mind," I snort and he smiles.

"Yeah that's true. You're banged up pretty bad, Dale reckons you're concussed from when you fell and you're dehydrated. Not to mention the infection in your arm. We've got antibiotics to fix that and Carol stitched you up," He says and I narrow my eyes at him.

"Why are you helping me?" I ask and he raises an eyebrow.

"You needed help, Daryl demanded we help you anyway," I look at him surprised but quickly wipe that from my expression.

"Where's my stuff?"

"Well we only took it away so you didn't shoot me on sight," I can't help it, I give a little laugh.

"That's fair," I say and Rick smiles widely, feeling more comfortable speaking to me now that I've laughed.

"So I have a proposition for you. It's hard out there on your own. We could really use another hunter in the group, it's just Daryl and there's more than a few of us. Help us and we'll help you. However, I won't stop you if you wanna leave, none of us will, we'll return your things and your weapons and you can go on your way," He says looking me directly in the eye and I know he isn't lying. My instincts are telling me to trust him but it's not in my nature to trust so quickly. I bite my lip, mulling it over.

"Can I think about it?" I ask quietly and he smiles.

"Absolutely but try us before you make your mind up," He says and I smile back at him.

* * * * *  

Forget Me

“Daryl and Lucy sittin’ in a tree, K - I - S - S - I - N - G!”

Chapter 16

“Always,” My lips form the word but no sound tumbles out. My eyes slowly flutter open. I feel so light, like my body isn’t mine. I blink a few more times, adjusting to the light in the room. Daryl……

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well 🧍‍♀️ as a reminder this blog is NOT a safe space for trump supporters but it IS a safe place for women, queers, trans ppl, people of color, undocumented people, and any marginalized group.

It’s not difficult, acting like there aren’t gorgeous fat models out there ffs

can i please see a fat woman wearing it. yes, i know your sizes go all the way up to 5x. but can i please see a fat woman wearing it. yes, i heard you're woman-owned. can i please see a fat woman wearing it though. yes, i understand you donate 50% of proceeds to this charity. i still do not see a fat woman wearing it. can i please see a fat woman wearing it.

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Mhm

I need fanfic writers to stop referring to Arthur Morgan as ageing/old/past his prime/getting on etc etc

He's in his mid thirties. He's literally the same age as me. Stop this nonsense now.