There Is Too Pure For This World Marvel Iterations, And Then There's Slightly Unhinged Marvel Iterations.

quick question why does your cat command you to print something on the printer

he really likes to watch the printer print. It seems like he thinks there’s some kind of creature in there that I have the mysterious power to summon that he can then hunt for sport?

he sticks his entire arm inside the printer and breaks it if I don’t put some kind of physical burrier between him and the printer but like he purrs so loud when it starts printing and will beg harder for people to print things than he will for treats.

he just loves hunting the printer so much. he even tried to climb inside the place the paper comes out of the printer when he was a kitten.

No matter where he is in the apartment if the printer makes a noise he sprints full speed. He also knows which button to press to get the printer to print like the ink levels info and alignment sheet, so you have to make sure it’s off or locked up or he will print nonstop himself and then attack the printer and jam it.

is it inconvenient that my cat is obsessed with the printer? yes, but damn if it’s not also adorable.

I don’t actually have a ton of photos of him sticking his whole arm in there though because stopping him from jamming the printer is usually a task that involves all of my arms and also all of my roommates arms.

Where is the link for the fic you have a profile image of?

Hello! Just made a post with the link. Under the tag my fic .

Danny sees no problem with this. Fighting is how ghosts say hello, after all, and establishing territory is important! Danny was in Damian's territory, a friendly fight was a good reaction! (He was, again, forgetting that human reactions meant different things, but he would only remember that later.) Danny was rather enjoying pulling out some moves from extinct martial arts to use against Damain. Every deflect and fancy maneuver sparked interest in jade green eyes, and Danny wanted Damian to keep looking at him. All eyes were on him as he vaulted over the table, narrowly missing the knife thrown at him and the tea set on the table.

Phantom had just picked up a bouquet of roses from the flower shop. No real reason for it, it was just near Valentine's day and he thought he would treat himself cause why not?

Well, he got caught up in a rouge attack and thankfully managed to keep his invisibility throughout. His roses weren't so lucky as they went flying through the air and were caught by a boy around his age. One of the vigilantes who liked to run around Gotham.

It was while the guy was staring at the roses looking completely dumbfounded that Danny realized bird boy was kinda hot. With nothing better to do and unable to return to his home dimension and having wiped the memory of everything Ghost zone and Danny related from his friends and families minds, he had found himself with a lot of free time.

He actually makes it a game to just chunk flowers and chocolates and other gifts at Robin whenever he got the chance and remain unseen while doing it.

Damian is both frustrated and impressed. He has yet to so much as spot his admirer(?) throughout the past week or so of being pelted with objects. Grayson has been insufferable with his cooing and Drake has become strangely overprotective. His other siblings had rather lukewarm responses, Brown just asked to be kept up to date, Todd laughed and called him a "little Romeo" which Damian found insulting, Cain commented on the situation calling it "cute" and Thomas asked if he could have some of the candy.

Damian himself has grown rather fond of the person and the gifts. That is, until the gifts became more and more personalized.

The first time he caught a package containing the expensive brand of paints he had been running low on, he had dismissed it as a coincidence. Maybe his admirer had good taste or knowledge of art? Later he received a replacement grooming brush in the exact same brand, style and color as the one Alfred the cat had before it was broken two days ago in one of his siblings mishaps. These kinds of thing kept happening and Damian was content to ignore it.

The final straw came went he came out of his bathroom after a shower and found a note praising him for his artwork in unfamiliar handwriting laying innocently on his desk.

Not a single one of the traps in his room had been sprung. He refused to admit he was frightened as he grabbed the note and went to speak with the others.

Doctor: $140,000 a year

Furry artist on Patreon: $160,000 a year

"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.

a special treat for those of us who enjoy watching sam reich torture his friends and/or employees

No, you thought. It couldn't possibly be for such a stupid, innocuous reason.

You had studied, for years and years. You had heard every single theory there was to be had, from the most complicated of conspiracies to sometimes the world simply being like that. One line of chaos after another, looping infinitely upon itself, spirally towards its own self destruction. The oroubouros of life, a snake eating its own tail.

But no. No. Years of your life, dedicated, practically WASTED for a simple innocuous answer.

The common denominator, that aligned with the undead hordes. Every single one, every one that struck out and stuck together in shambling groups of viscera and horror, had one thing in common.

OR6A2, an appropriately scientific sounding name for something that influenced both the creation and the behavior of the undead. But OR6A2 was a smell receptor gene. Again, not something that was out of the realm of common thought. Some people bathed religiously in an attempt to keep the hordes away.

It only sometimes worked.

But no. What OR6A2 was commonly known for, what oh so COMMONLY happened with it, was that it was responsible for cilantro tasting like soap to some people.

That was it. The stupid, INSIGNIFICANT commonality, was smell receptors telling zombies that some people tasted bad. Did some humans taste like cilantro? Or soap? Were the hygiene fanatics onto something?

But no, it didn't work. Obviously people had to taste different, that was the commonality. Were people with sensitive OR6A2 genetically predisposed to become zombies? Was it a matter of preference to taste, did people with OR6A2 taste good? Did others taste like cilantro?

WHY WOULD PEOPLE TASTE LIKE CILANTRO??!!

Your head hits the table in front of you with an unfourtanetly unsatisfying thud.

One question down, you think ruefully, a thousand more to go.

Fuck.

A zombie apocalypse plagues the planet. Strangely the zombies seem to attack some people and leave others alone. You’re part of a team of scientists and soldiers who discover why.

i hate how you get desensitized to the cool stuff in your WIP if you've been writing it for a long time so when you read back over it you're like "this isn't as cool as i thought :(" but it still is! you just read it too many times

People find out. And if you thought Sam was good at organizing protests? That Tucker was good at spreading the word? Oh, you haven't seen anything yet. It becomes a national issue. Protests are held around the entirety of the cemetery, people line up to help put things to right, to block people out, to shout at the local authorities. People are furious. They are aware and furious. Because that is where their family was. What if they can't rest now you've disturbed them? The workers will put it to rights or so help them there will be one more corpse in the cemetery.

DCXDP prompt

During a rouge attack(your choice) a local graveyard in Gotham was damaged. Afterward, some local corrupted businessmen decided that clearing out the land and moving the graves was a great idea.

Not soon after the "clean up" began a gray-skinned teen with flaming blue hair showed up, and boy was she angry. She began yelling, screaming at the people the workers for digging up her grave.

When she was only met with patronizing responses she used her guitar to destroy some of their equipment. She was only the beginning though. Soon a equally gray looking biker guy and his green girlfriend showed up and started chasing people off.

Even some angry blue guy showed up one morning yelling about how ' they would pay for braking open his box.' (Braking his casket) wasn’t till they accidentally damaged a statue of one of Gothams most famous wardens that it really hit the fan.

The Bats call in Justice League Dark for help with this issue and no matter what they were thinking was going to happen. No matter what hoops they thought they would have to go through to resolve this. They did not expect Constantine to call a fourteen year old for back up.

- So in canon Ember died in a house fire. I could totally see that happening as a result of a rouge attack.(Like Firefly or the Joker, maybe)

Johnny and Kitty died in a motorcycle accident. So maybe they were trying to out run the police? Run from people they had gambling debts with?

The Box Ghost was a warehouse accident. Probably as an example the Mob wanted to make to the warehouse owner after not wanting to pay for protection. Or perhaps he was a whistle-blower?

Walker died in a prison riot, and seeing how Gotham is the place to find violent criminals. Would it be that much of a stretch to say it was Gotham penitentiary? I think not.

It was at this point his brothers came ambling up to him, trying to subtly assess the kid (spoiler: it was not subtle). The kid clocked them approaching and frowned before looking up at Jason.

"Do you know them?"

Jason sighed. "Yeah, those are my loser brothers. If they make jokes about adoption, it's fine. We're all adopted so it's a family joke,"

And right on time, Dick chimed up. "I can't believe we're going to have to tell Alfred he's a grandfather! How could you hide his grandson from him for so long?" Dick dramatically swooned onto his shoulder and danced out of the way when Jason tried to shove him.

"Yeah, Jason," Tim spoke up deadpan, typing away at his phone, "For shame," Then he looked up at Danny. "Is this you?" He asked, holding out his phone. Jason squinted and leaned closer.

The picture was of a teenager mid-flight holding his hand out with a beam of Lazarus Green (what the fuck) energy coming out of it. He was wearing a black and white jumpsuit with a barely visible logo on the chest and Pit coloured eyes (What The Fuck) glowing beneath snowy white hair. But overall facial construction, build, shit, even the hairstyle...Danny was a vigilante. And Tim had just broken his identity.

Beside him Danny paled rapidly, but put on a casual grin and shook his head. "Me? Dude, you need to get your eyes checked. That's Phantom, and he's a ghost. Do I look dead to you?" Rather convincing to the untrained eye. Unfourtanetly for him, he was surrounded by them.

Jason spoke softly and slowly ruffled the kids hair. "Nice try, kiddo. But we can tell," The kid turned to him, big blue eyes looking up at him. The kid was so scared, and he was looking to Jason. He was looking to Jason for protection. (Something inside him started screaming violently to get rid of whatever made the kid scared from now until forever).

Jason paused for a moment, before deciding to take a risk. He shoved a hand into his pocket and palmed a spare domino mask before bringing it out, angling is so no one but the kid under his arm would be able to see it. "We got experience with this sort of thing,"

The kid looked up at him, something on the border between a gut aching relief and hope. "Where did you say you were from?" The kid asked softly.

Jason smirked and tossed his head, flipping his hair and its white streak out of his eyes. "Gotham,"

Short DPXDC Prompts #176

Jason Todd gets mistaken for Jack Fenton