Lirabuswavi - LiraBuswavi

"It wasn’t supposed to go like this," They said. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this," Sorder, aka Riley Cowel, spoke to your grave.

The sun was shining. Your grave had bundles of flowers from your loved ones. And your villain, your archnemesis, who very much was not supposed to know your real identity, was standing there, with a bouquet of purple and black irises.

It had been a freak accident. A car crash, the kind of thing that happened every day. You knew, now, that the other driver's brakes had malfunctioned and their wheels had skidded on the ice. It was no one's fault, not even your own, that you died.

Warren, the Earthen Hero, protector of the city, dead in a car accident.

And no one to know. You'd never told anyone your identity. Not your friends, not your family, no civilians through a slip of the mask, no one. No one to know Warren was dead the same moment Owen Trayton flatlined in the hospital. No one.

Except, somehow, Sorder.

"It wasn’t supposed to end like this," They said. "God, couldn't it have been a blaze of glory? If front of the whole world, for everyone to see. For everyone to mourn. Bet there'd be a statue," Sorder grinned. "And you wouldn't even want it. When I want a statue, I'm a megalomaniac, but you-," Sorder's smile fell and they sighed.

"You could've had everything. Fame and recognition. Support. And yet you told no one. I searched for you, you know. Or, well, you didn't know as Iong as I did the whole stalking thing right. And you know what I found?"

Sorder crouched down, staring at your name on the gravestone. "Owen Trayton, working two minimum wage jobs because you can't hold down anything else down while still being a hero. Warren, getting shouted at when he's late delivering a pizza because he had been thwarting me. The Earthen hero, tired and still smiling that stupid, heroic smile working retail,"

For a moment, Sorder said nothing. The wind ruffled their hair and brushed through the flowers they were holding. They placed their purple and black bouquet among the other flowers given by your friends and family, and sighed. "'Not with a bang, but a whimper'," They whispered. "No one will know what happened to Warren. Did you think of that? The mystery you could leave behind? Or did you not care? Abandoning fame and fortune, even in death. Leaving me behind too,"

A pause. "I'm the only one who knows. I could expose you, of course. They wouldn't listen at first, assume I had faked your death. The populace always wants to hope. To keep faith. But then you'd never show up. I could make them listen," Sorder sighed again and sat on the ground.

"But I won't. I'll keep your secret, just as I have ever since I learned your name. And just to keep things even, I'll tell you my own secret. You already know my legal name, that's the nature of things when you've been arrested a dozen times. But no one but myself has ever learned the meaning behind Sorder.

"It's a combination of two words. Sordid, because what kind if villain would I be if I didn't have evil in my name?" They smirked. "But it's also another word. Sonder. The feeling you get when you realize everyone's lives are just as complicated as yours. Each person, unique in their lives and homes and tastes, seeing everything through their own eyes. I may be a villain, but I do have standards. Limits. I wanted to be reminded of those limits everytime you shouted my name.

"People could die, during my crusade. On accident, on purpose, it could happen. There's very limits I have, to achieving the world I want to see. But I have to remember, that people aren't stepping stones to get there. They're people. The road I pave is in blood and bones and broken dreams and broken hearts and broken people. I can never forget that. Even you,"

Sorder smiled faintly, bitterness twinging at the corners of their lips. "You were my obstacle, my nemesis, my enemy. And you worked minimum wage and lived in a shitty apartment and didn't want anyone to know about your alternate life, on either end. So,"

Sorder stood up, brushing the dried grass off on their pants, "I won't tell anyone. Your name will be a memory, both names. The end of the hero Warren will remain a mystery, and the fate of Owen Trayton a common tragedy. You're welcome," They sighed. "You probably aren't even hearing me. I don't really belive in life after death. Maybe my secret remains entirely my own. But I don't know that, so I'll believe you do,"

They sigh again, frowning at your gravestone. "I'm not going to retire. I'm not going to stop. I have a goal, Warren, and I'm going to do my best to achieve it. Maybe some little hero wannabe will show up and stop me. Maybe they won't. Maybe I win, Warren," Sorder smiled bitterly at the ground. "You'd argue with me, if you could. Say an ideal could never be defeated, I'd never win, as long as hope persists. I disagree. But I'll be nice. It's a draw, Warren. In the end, I never defeated you. Spiting me, even in death. How... you,"

Sorder smiled softly and put their hand on your gravestone. The sun was shining. There was an extra bouquet of flowers on your grave. And Sorder, Riley Cowel, slipped their hand off your gravestone and walked away.

They didn't look back.

You die in a freak accident and watch your funeral as a spirit. You’re shocked to see who comes to pay their last respects to you.

Danny: I have decided to steal all the bright green things in Central City because, *checks hand* I am the most green of all and only I can have it. The only reason Green Lantern isn't my nemesis is because I can't get to space yet.

Flash, desperately trying to take this kid in for hot chocolate and a home-cooked meal instead of for arrest: I can get you to space. So come with me? Please?

Danny, who has been channeling his inner Box Ghost: That would be sufficient, red one! I, the Green Ghost, will be the most green of all!

Dp x dc idea 159

Danny is being hunted. Both his parents and the Giw. They all think he is a villain so he might as well be one.

He’d just choose who he’d be a villain for.

By then he had one choice. The flash. That man seems to care about his villain . He doesn’t think the man would let one of his villains be tortured or experimented on.

After his recent escape from the parties hunting him he sets out for central city. He’d just be a villain to an actual decent person instead.

I’m personally imagining him still a teen and doing the most mundane crimes. Just using his powers enough the cops can’t do anything to stop him.

Damian was having a very, very bad patrol. A group of cultists had ambushed himself and Nightwing, and kidnapped them both for a ritual. From what Damian had gleaned, it was a summoning ritual for an entity of ice and snow to bring an eternal winter to the unworthy. Or so they said. And also required a blood sacrifice. Which Damian was.

Damian barely registered Nightwing's shouting from the corner where he had been tied up. They had taken him too so the other Bats had less of a lead. This was highly unfortunate, given that the leader was seemingly nearing the end of the ritual, knife hovering over Damian's chest.

Was this how his brother felt? Before he was killed? Not the same, his brother couldn't have known what was happening. But this dread, this anticipation. Was this what his brother had felt? Before he was stabbed through the chest and discarded into a pool of green?

How ironic that Damian was going to be stabbed through the chest. But there would be no pool of green, only red. At least this time his Father would have a body to bury.

The chanting rose along with the knife. Nightwing screamed. Damian kept his eyes open. He would see his demise. He would not look away.

The knife came down and Damian's vision was consumed by black. There was a choked breath and Damian could no longer hear Nightwing.

Dying hurt less that he thought it would. Then the black in his vision shifted. It was... a person. The black-clad back of a person, sitting up and forcing the cultist to stumble back. Had one of his family arrived in time, only to sacrifice themselves for him?

No, none of his family had pure, glowing white hair. Had the ritual been successful? But the sacrifice had not been completed. The person grabbed the knife and pulled it out of their torso.

There was no spurt of blood as there should have been. Instead, the knife gleamed with dripping bright green. The same toxic green as Lazarus water. The being discarded the knife on the ground, ignoring the cultists and their frantic murmuring and Nightwing's renewed shouting.

They turned around and Damian couldn't breath. He had seen pictures of his father when he was younger in the manner. He had seen what his father looked like at Damian's age, as a teenager, and as an adult. This being, with their Lazarus blood and Lazarus green eyes and his father's teenage face smiled at Damian.

"Hi little brother," They said. "Couldn’t let you get sacrificed, now could I? That's my job, y'know,"

(Danny had gone to Clockwork for answers. Danny had gotten answers. Danny had not been happy with those answers. Clockwork had told him that his little brother was about to be ritualistcally sacrificed, and would Danny like to do something about that? Danny very much would. And Danny did. Time to say hello to his alternate dimension extended family.)

DC x DP: The Real Blood Son

It's a year after Damian came to live with them that he decides it is an excellent time to bombard Bruce with his news.

"I had a blood brother." He says to Tim after the other commented how important blood meant to Bruce-ie, not enough to make him get rid of his other sons. "He was the first from the artificial womb mother made with Father's DNA; however, he was disposed of once his heart condition became known. I highly doubt you will last even twice as long Drake-"

"What"

Bruce didn't know that he could make his voice that cold. That dead. What in the world does he mean disposed.

Damian goes still. The kind of still where he isn't sure if he just earned a punishment and is trying not to react to the fear. "My elder brother. Did mother not inform you?"

"Damian," Bruce struggles to level his tone at Dick's hard stare. "She hadn't even informed me of you. Please, can you explain more about your brother."

The youngest nods. "He had no name, but he was my biological brother. He was forced to grow to age of three before they realized he was defective. Grandfather had him sacrificed to the pit."

Jason growls "what do you mean?"

Damian looks confused- as confused as he can with his league training kicking in. "The Lazarus pit is made from the bodies of young virgins. No older then ten. They are sacrificed in exchange for the Infinite Realms' power to sink into the water. The children are not aware of what is happening to them until the very end. They do not suffer."

Bruce feels sick.

They talk a bit more, on how certain followers throughout history were more then happy to offer the great Ra's their own children to renew the pit. How Damain had watched three children when he was seven be sacrifice- it happened every five years- and how the children were given the best week of their lives.

They purposely given the most joy they could feel before the blades to make the Pit as pure as possible. He talked a lot about watching the youngest- five years- be laughing and splashing in the Lazarus water before his mother cut him down, his screams drowning in the green liquid.

"They say the Pit absorbs the last emotion of the sacrifice. Grandfather hopes the children realize the importance and honor they have to be ended for a glorious cause, but occasionally a few are disloyal. When Todd had taken a dip, the previous Renew, had a brilliant girl who figured out what was happening and attempted to escape. She failed, of course, and her arm was amputated in a mission, but she died angry. That's why Todd had such strong madness compared to-!"

"SHUT UP!" Jason roars suddenly, eyes glowing green, and for a brief moment, Bruce swears he hears an undertone of a young girl in his scream "SHUT UP! YOU DONT KNOW ANYTHING! YOUR OWN BROTHER IS IN THERE"

Damain scowls "it's a honor. My brother's body was defective. But he at least had aidded in a glorious ritual."

Bruce can't help it; he leans over the BatCave Railing and hurls his dinner. Damian finally realizes that something is wrong.

They host a funeral for his three-year-old son, who died without a name, and place his gravestone next to his parents. They explain to Damian why the Renewal ritual is horrific but Bruce feels it take years before his son can see that.

Jason, went out into Crime Alley to let off some steam and had been going on a rampage against the underbelly of Gotham. He can't find it I'm himself to stop him.

Bruce asks Constantine to come over and do a small ritual, to hopefully unbound his child and let his son soul move on. Constantine warns that with the kid's name it may not work and that they could only free souls they share blood to but the English man tries anyway.

They send his son their prayers, and hopes. And they try to put him to rest.

Across the Infinite Releams to three dimensions to the right of the Wayne's soul resting ritual, The Fenton's adoptived son, Danny Fenton jolts in his English Class.

The strange stabbing scar above his heart- which is why he never takes off his shirt- burns then cools as if someone had tried to place the temperature-changing ointment. He rubs his best, confused.

What was that?

He'll have to check with FrostBite. Maybe his heart condition is acting up again. It happens every five years even though no doctors his parents have taken him to could figure out what it was.

Until Frostbite. The yeti claimed it had something to do with dark arts, but he's unsure what type.

Frostbite is still doing more testing.

"I wish you had lived, brother. I wish I knew you name"

The wind whispers, and Danny feels a flash of deep longing and grief before it's gone. Yeah, he needs to talk to Frostbite.

Reblog if it's okay to befriend you, ask questions, ask for advice, rant, vent, let something off your chest, or just have a nice chat.

please, please and please.

A moment from chapter 7 of In the Hall of The Mountain King by @st-whalefall .

Reblog if you're okay with receiving asks for backstory info on any/all of your fics.

If not all, specify which ones in the tags.

I just found your "Whos Old Now" fic and I A) AM IN LOVE and B) CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT THE ANGST POTENTIAL 😭😭😭 Im just imagining the justice league + Danny getting into some big boss battle and Billy getting injured but the entire league trying to stop Danny from going in after him because No One Wants To Explain To Captain Marvel Why His Kid Is Hurt™ and Danny having to fight them all off and simultaneously explain that "I'm not his kid, he's mine"

I'm glad you're enjoying it! And yes, there is a lot of angst potential. It's a fine balance between fluff and angst, and I hope I'm getting that right so far. And absolutely nothing would stop Danny from getting to his kid if Billy needed help. Probably wouldn't even explain it to the League, he'd just go. What are they gonna do about his intangibility? Nothing that will stop him from getting to his kid, that's what.

#artists

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