#daryl nimble bat

[tricktrashing]

That one color wheel meme that's been going around twitter was really fun, and i wanted to do it with my characters

I tried to focus more on my ORIGINAL characters,not fan characters, but since i lacked red girls, i had to include my Super Animal Royale girl Cherry to fit a spot with Potyra… there are a few didnt fit so well but be nice to me okay,.,.

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Screaming Salvation (Part one)

[[ The rest of this author note is from when I wrote it, but this is me now. Here’s the first chap of the gift I promised. Please remember there will only be 5 chapters and as of now, I have no idea when I’ll go back to finish this.]]

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So this one will end up being AU. Focused heavily and my OC and Daryl rather than everyone else. Not much else to say, no idea where the fuck I’m going with this as usual loool Set before the group gets to Alexandria.

Name of the fic is inspired by a song. The Two Tongues by As It Is.

When I think of him there's comfort in the cold

He gives me solace when I offer him control

Her voice so beautiful will find me and explain

That life is agony but worth it all the same

I've been to hell and back

I've been living in between

Where the sky is always grey

And the grass is ever green

No I'm not sure I'm right

But I'm not sure I'm wrong

I'm just desperate to belong

Her voice like a sunrise

His voice like temptation

She sings to me softly

He's screaming salvation

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The sounds of boots slapping the damp mud in the forest, mixed with her own heavy breathing, were the only sounds in Rosalie's ears. Blaring like an alarm, letting her know exactly just how much she was in danger. And to put it lightly, she was fucked. She dodged and weaved the trees like a bat out of hell, eyes fixed on the break in the trees in front of her. The weight wrapped around her middle was weighing on her heavily, not just physically, but mentally. With each step it was as if she could feel just how heavy the burden placed on her shoulders really was. Like being put to the test, and she really fucking hated it. She had to get out of here, she fucking had to. She could still hear the men back further in the forest, not giving up the unrelenting chase of the young girl. Despite the fact her boots felt like they were filling with blood from her torn up feet, she didn't slow down. She was a lone survivor. Well maybe not completely alone, but she didn't exactly have anyone to have her back. She knew better than that by now. She’d been alone for years now. But the weight of having something else to keep alive, something to keep safe, it was a hard pill to swallow, especially when said thing was making life that much more difficult. 

The cut on her arm stung like a bitch as it bled everywhere, the warm crimson liquid dripping down her arm. She had a fleeting thought that it was creating quite an inviting trail for the dead ones to track her with and have a nice meal, or even the assholes who were after her. She knew it'd need stitches and could only pray to a God that clearly either didn't exist or give a shit, that it wouldn't get infected. At this point, so far past the turn, finding antibiotics was a rare fucking thing. Her lungs burned deep in her chest from her violently sucking in air and heaving it out. She could only focus on getting far away. She knew she'd put a good distance between her and the assholes chasing her, being small and nimble had its perks. But she knew they were still chasing her, and she wondered with a dark feeling if they’d ever even stop.

She broke out of the tree line, but what should have felt like a small victory rapidly turned on its head as she was faced with a large group of survivors just a few feet away in the road. It felt like a fraction of a second before all weapons were trained on her, and she drew her machete with a shaky weak arm, the other curling protectively around the thickly wrapped sheet around her middle. Her eyes were wild. Fear and desperation clear as day in them. A girl who had seen way too much shit for her age. Twenty...something. She was twenty one when the world fell apart and she’d lost track of how much time had passed since then. She really wasn't sure anymore, she didn’t give a shit. None of it mattered anymore. The only thing that did matter was staying alive. Age had no purpose in the new world because no matter the number, your life could end swiftly from the dead or the living. It didn't matter if you were 5 or 82. 

Her wide haunted eyes rapidly flit around, taking in the threats as she was assessing them. A man with shaggy hair and a beard, holding a revolver. A dirty man with a crossbow and a scowl that would make Satan shit himself. A black woman with swords, a young boy with a gun. There were more, but her fatigue was making it hard to even decipher them, her stance wavering as she fought hard not to collapse. She wondered if they were part of the group chasing her, but despite the fact they looked worn down and like they'd been dragged through hell and back, they didn't seem like it. They didn't give off the extremely dark vibe that the others had. The others, although clearly living and breathing humans, were more animal than man, and those were the kind you really needed to stay away from.

“I don't want any trouble,” her firm yet scared voice sounded foreign to herself, rough and scratchy from not using it for so long and from not having had a drink. She couldn't remember the last time she had a drink. She often went without these days. There was something much more important that needed it. The others squinted at her, and the man with the revolver cocked his head. She couldn’t hide from his eyes that looked like maybe he'd lost his marbles just a little bit. She couldn't really blame him, she had that same look in her own eyes. The one that said she had seen the darkest depths of hell, that said she was desperate and would do anything for survival. It was tense, none of them wavering as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then, the bundle wrapped securely around her moved and a small cry came from it. The survivor's eyes widened just a fraction, glancing at each other before back to her. A sound of a baby so strange to them, despite the fact they had one of their own. Some of them wavered their weapons a little, as if the idea of hurting someone with a baby wasn't something they could stomach. If they shot her, they could hit the baby, or the baby would get crushed when she fell like a sack of crap.

Rosalie swallowed thickly and took a shaky step back, her weapon still raised as she tried to see if they would put a damn bullet in her back the second she turned. Her hand held the baby's head protectively as she glanced down, shushing the baby in a low soothing tone. The man with the revolver slowly lowered his weapon, and most of the others followed suit. He was either the leader or they just trusted his judgement, Rosalie mused. He looked almost pained as he glanced at the wiggling bundle attached to the woman, the woman who seemed too haunted. The thought of one girl, one person on their own having to survive with a baby, made the man's blood run cold. He knew how hard it was and he wasn't ever alone anymore. He had his group, his family to have his back. To know that if anything did happen to him, the baby would be safe and protected still. And this girl, with the desperate look in her eyes that he knew all too well, she didn't have that luxury.

She exhaled a shaky breath and was about to leave, but that would be way too easy for the unfortunate events that made up her life. Nothing was ever easy in Rosalie's life. From the moment she was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck to her mother dying in childbirth, it only went downhill after that with her evil father shifting the blame onto the innocent child. Her life was one shitty thing after another, and the new world did nothing to change that fact. If anything, it made it much much worse. 

The three vile men suddenly appeared out of the trees. It was as if they had somehow not noticed the large group of survivors not too far away, or maybe they were too stupid to care, their eyes on the prize as it were. She thought it was a combination of both. As deranged as these men were, they really weren't too clever or aware of their surroundings. It was how she managed to get away in the first place. 

Rosalie's eyes widened in terror and took a step back, a low feral sounding growl erupting from her lips as she held her machete up, looking more alert than she did seconds before. She looked like a wild animal ready to attack, to fight for its life and do whatever it took to survive. It was a look that didn't match up with her almost angelic pretty face and tiny petite frame.

“Now now kitten, that wasn't very nice to leave us like that,” the man with long straggly hair sneered. He was thin and sickly looking, a wild gleam in his eye. The man to his left, far too fat for this world and Rosalie wondered how the fuck he’d managed that one, laughed loudly.

“Forget the girl, I want the baby,” the balding man to the right side gleefully stated. The words polluted the air and caused the group to gasp, shocked from the other survivors who were watching, weapons drawn and appalled faces. Because no matter the horrors you found in this world, something always came along to outdo it.

With no hesitation, when those vile vile words left the man's lips and then left them distracted by the other group, a loud snarl left Rosalie as she dove at the man, swiping her machete with a force that looked unreal for her small weak frame. The blade sliced cleanly through the man's neck, almost severing his head. And with a sudden flurry of movement and noise, the leader hit the floor like a tonne of bricks, a bullet right through the temple, as the man to his left got a bolt right in the eye and fell next to him.

Rosalie's head whipped to the others, seemingly shocked that anyone had even bothered to help her or the child. Did good people exist anymore? She really gave up that hope a long fucking time ago. She stopped expecting the best of people before the world went to shit and it only went downhill after. The thick silence filled the air and she blinked wearily at them. Fatigue was setting into her bones but she needed to go. She needed to find somewhere to hole up for the night, to find safety for the little thing attached to her that had seemingly taken over her life, the fierce need to protect. She turned her back, feeling like they wouldn't hurt her. Why bother helping if they'd just kill her? She started stalking away, wincing at the pain in her feet. 

“Wait!” the voice rang out in the tense air and stopped her in her tracks, making her turn cautiously, half expecting a gun trained on her. But instead, she found the revolver man who had taken a few strides towards her. She narrowed her gaze distrustfully at him. In response he held his hands up, giving her a weird look, like he was looking at a scared animal and he didn't want to spook it.

“You should come with us, ain’t safe out here on your own, not with a baby,” his words were soothing, like he'd done this all too many times before. Diplomatic and calming. She was good at reading people and she wondered if he was some kind of law enforcement before the shit hit the fan. She'd had enough experience with police in her past to know one when she heard one. Rosalie chewed the inside of her cheek as her eyes flit to the others watching carefully behind him. Although no weapons were pointed at her, she could sense their readiness to do so if needed. 

“They won't hurt you, we’re good people,” he said softly, as if he could sense her apprehension. He didn't really blame her for feeling that way, especially not after what they had just witnessed. It painfully reminded him of the other group he came across when one of his own had returned to him. The Claimers. The one slimy fuck that had his eye on his son, the one who ended up with his entrails all over the floor.

She didn't like this. She didn't like people and she didn't want to be part of another group just so they could fucking die around her like the last one all those years ago, not long after the dead started walking and got a penchant for eating people. She already had enough on her plate looking after the kid. She didn’t need feelings or attachments, nothing of the sort. One was more than enough. That shit was what got you killed out here. She didn't say a word, turning around and carrying on walking. The man's shoulders slumped a little, the idea of letting her and the baby walk away to an almost certain death not sitting right with him.

“We have a baby too...We have formula...if you need any. We look out for our own. You come with us, we can make sure the baby is safe,” Just as he hoped, the woman stilled again, but didn't turn to him this time. He could see her clench her fist a little, the one with no weapon. He also noticed the gash on her arm that looked like a defensive wound. It was dangerous to have a wound like that these days, and he doubted she could sew it up herself.

“Someone can help with your arm, sew it up. Won't be much use to your baby if you die from infection or blood loss,” he prodded, knowing the girl clearly cared about the baby and trying to coax her using that knowledge. 

She slowly turned around, tugging her lower lip with her teeth as her bloodied arm came around to the baby’s head that was now poking out from what looked like a tatty bloodstained blanket that was tied tightly around her. The dark-haired baby cooed at her, pulling at her necklace, and Rosalie glanced from the man to the baby. She knew he was right, that she couldn't do this alone. If she died, what chance did the baby have of surviving? None. Just like when she had found him. She mulled around the idea of leaving the small boy with the people, but she found a strange pain in her chest when she did. She’d at least have to stick around a little to see if she could trust them with such a thing.

After a few tense moments of silence, she looked back up at the man, seeing his hopeful gaze imploring her to do the right thing. If they wanted her dead, they would have done it by now, that much was obvious. She’d run into too many bad people already in the new world. She could tell they were different. But despite the apprehension swelling inside of her, she had to. She had to fucking hope that maybe all the people left in the world weren't evil, and that maybe this was her chance to give the baby the life he deserved. The guilt swam deep in her veins, remembering what he said about formula. She’d ran out weeks ago, and the baby was surviving on mashed foods that were way too much for a boy his age. As much as she was grateful that the baby was mostly quiet, she knew deep inside of her, part of that reason was because he wasn't getting what he needed, wasn't getting the right nutrients and it was making him weak.

Rosalie took a deep shaky breath to steady her nerves before giving the man a small nod, and he breathed a sigh of relief, stepping closer. He didn't fail to notice how the grip on her machete tightened without her raising it, or how the arm around the baby gripped harder.

“I’m Rick,” he said with a warm smile, holding his hand out but she looked at it like he’d grown three heads. Shaking hands wasn't a thing in this new world. Hell, she didn’t shake hands in the old world either. She still took it though, her small hand giving him a weak shake and letting him see just how tired and weak she really was.

“Rosalie,” she muttered, her eyes tired and her whole body screaming with pain. She didn't offer up the baby's name but Rick didn't mention it. He would be protective of Judith too. He nodded at her and tilted his head in the direction of the group before walking back over to them. She heaved a sigh before trudging off after him, watching the others eye her curiously, some wary. They should be wary. They didn't know what she was capable of, and she knew they were smart just for feeling the same apprehension she felt about them.

“This is Rosalie, she’ll be joining us,” Rick’s words were firm as he gazed around the group that had become his family, waiting for anyone to speak up, to challenge him. But the baby cooed again and it was as if the noise itself was enough to soften anyone who may have had doubts, to leave such an innocent thing out in the world like this. The children were the future now, the only hope the cold world may have. And with no more words, they all turned around and started back on their journey. One to find somewhere to call home, to feel safe. Somewhere Carl and Judith could be safe from the horrors of the new world, and now somewhere for this new baby to have the same.

[thebibliomancer]

100 Days of Comics! 050/100: Batman #45 (2015)

Holy horseshoes, dear readers! This is the fiftieth selection from the mystery box! That means I’m halfway there and possibly living in a prayer. Still waiting for the math on that.

And its fitting that the halfway point be marked with a Batman comic. Have I really not had a Batman so far? I’ve sort of edged around him with stuff like Dark Claw and Green Arrow and the Outsiders and that one backup story in that Image comic. Its so weird that I haven’t covered Batman himself yet.

Although maybe not so weird. Mystery boxes are a way for comic shops to get rid of excess back issues. So you’re more likely to see stuff the shop overordered and undersold. Image comics and stuff like Solus, whose company went bankrupt in the middle of a big event.

Batman is always a good seller so its less likely to end up as excess back issues. Although, this particular Batman comic is set during the time when Jim Gordan was Batman and the only thing I ever heard about it was complaining so maybe that’s why its in the box.

I sort of understand though. In order to be Batman, Gordan had to shave off his mustache.

So we start with narration: “In the beginning, there was nothing. And then... there was Batman. And this was good.”

And then we see the All-New, All-Different Batman being cooked alive in an industrial furnace.

Even though his face is exposed and the temperature is up to nine hundred degrees, I guess the suits protects him somehow.

Not having traveled around the world training to be the best at everything, Jim Gordan Batman relies more on a high tech suit. Heads-up display in the cowl, a gun that shoots batarangs.

Batman realizes that the exposed coolant coils are his way out of this but with the bat-gun dead, he has to pry the batarang out and hit the coils, despite missing all the time in practice.

And hey, it works. Batman bursts out of the furnace looking much worse for the wear and starts fighting goons. So they dogpile him and start stabbing him. And Gordan realizes that he rushed into an ambush because he’s too used to having backup from when he was a cop. And he could always count on Batman except now that he’s Batman, Batman won’t come to save him.

And then a giant Batman robot bursts in through the skylight. It’s on a nimble auto program so it acts on its own to reach Gordan, using contextual material to reach its goal. Which means that it grabs two sharks to use as clubs.

Gordan dubs it “Rookie” and it carries him out of that nightmare.

Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne. Rocking a beard. Apparently he has lost his memory and doesn’t want to Batman anymore. He went back to Wayne Manor and found no trace of life there. Like the old Bruce didn’t really exist beyond his Batmanning. And now he’s working with kids with his childhood friend Jules, dealing with the aftermath of the Joker’s “Endgame” which left either a giant T. Rex corpse in the middle of Gotham or a convincing statue.

The city won’t clean it up despite it being next to a youth center or something. And the kids are afraid that someone else will come to use the stuff the way the Joker did.

So the next day, Bruce has the stuff repurposed as a playground for the kids. Paints the T. Rex purple and green and has a slide coming out of its mouth. Making it so this junk isn’t an ugly reminder but a trophy of what the kids lived through.

Elsewherewhen, Gordan shows up to apologize to his boss Geri Powers. She takes him on a tour of her particle collider and explains that they’re trying to create new elements in the elemental number of 200s, theory being that there’s an island of stability beyond where atoms are normally too big to hold.

In fact, they managed to create a new element with the atomic number 206 called batmanium. Geri Powers was going to present a moderately small bat-icon shaped piece to Gordan at the gala he skipped to go off grid to hunt Mister Bloom. It weighs two-tons and is a super conductor.

Anyway, Jim is super fired. His exploits are all over the news. Geri says she’ll let Gordan help pick the next Batman but for the sake of keeping the lights on, Gordan can’t be it anymore.

Geri Powers: “The old Batman. He was something small. A tiny, known element. This, it’s something much bigger. A bigger dream. For it to work, it needs power. It needs a big machine... There’ll be community activists there. Police. Business leaders. Politicians. Everyone who makes this city run. If you believe in this, Jim, in Batman as something that can give people faith in the city, in the system, you’ll do as I’m asking.”

Elsewhere, possibly when, Daryl is fixing the batsuit when Duke (one of the We Are Robin Robins) breaks in. He asks for information on Mister Bloom and that he, as Robin, be allowed to help.

Daryl: “You have to be kidding me. Duke, Batman doesn’t need a Robin right now.

Duke: That’s fine. Robin doesn’t need a Batman either. Batman is on the gargoyle. Robin... Robin is on the street. It’s us, solving our problems together. I know you work for him, but you’re us, too. You and me, we came up together.”

Daryl sighs and agrees.

Definitely later, at a presentation, Geri Powers gives a speech about Batman to the community activists and etc. Saying that the program is about making Batman last beyond any one man so that he’ll always be part of Gotham and y’know there might be some detours on the way to getting it right (leading up to totally firing Gordan).

Gordan Batman and Julia Pennyworth are waiting out in the hallway for Batman’s bat-cue. Julia tells Gordan he should fight to keep his position but Gordan thinks Geri would totally have him arrested for realsies.

But then he notices a zeppelin wafting menacingly toward the building and tackles Geri down.

As the audience runs from sudden zeppelin attack, Mister Bloom starts impaling some on his creepy vine fingers and asks where everyone is going. “The party’s just starting!”

He looks like if Slenderman glued a flower to his face and borrowed Lady Deathstrike’s hands.

Jim Gordan as Batman is certainly an interesting direction to go because of all the necessary changes. He needs a high-tech suit, a special bat-gun, and a robot partner to do the job. He’s also a much more lithe Batman. Doesn’t really have Bruce’s big beefy man beef bulk.

Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne gets to be building playground equipment out of robot dinosaurs. I think its clear who got the better deal here.