OH MY GOD IM CRYING, THE HUG?!?!?!

latest chapter of dark matter omggg i loved it >.<

maribat ideas that don’t involve maribat:

Alya getting an internship in the Daily Planet because of her work reporting the whole series

Luka keeps on figuring people’s identities out and it becomes such a problem for the Bats

Alix pops around the timeline befriending people and driving Booster Gold mad

Nino gets a Green Lantern ring and everyone is annoyed that he’s so naturally talented except no he already had training so now suspicion is cast upon him

Juleka and Rose go to a gala at Gotham via the ‘Jagged is from Gotham’ trope and meet Tim & Bernard and they both think Rose is insane

Colt Fathom is related to Thomas Wayne and Felix brings Kagami with him to the reunion gala and the Bats try to get information about Paris

Kaldur finds out Plagg has returned and immediately goes to try and appease him only to find Adrien

Nathalie knows Talia from her adventuring days and asks her if she could watch over Adrien while Nathalie handled the trial and then the Teen Titans show up

Superman’s identity is about to be exposed and Marinette shows up via Alya and creates a plan that completely derails the broadcast

The whole class is caught in a villain attack and their terrifying hypercompetence in the situation had everyone alarmed

god the way i L O V E @mysterycyclone's dark matter on ao3. It's a masterpeice. a work of A R T. ohmigod i will have to bind this once it'ts finisged omggg the love i have for it cannot be comprehended

DC x DP Prompt

Jasmine is dead. Danny, Dante, and Ellie all watched as one of the Fenton's newest prototypes went awol and shot Jasmine through the chest. Their sister is dead.

On an unrelated note (very related actually), Captain Marvel and the rest of the JLD are losing their shit because not even one but three godlings are going apeshit on humanity. And one of them knocked Superman the fuck out.

Somewhere in the Ghost Zone Jazz has a choice to make. One her siblings had no say in but she does. And-

"Tik tok Jasmine, time is ticking."

Miraculous Prompt: Resigning With Grace (And Spite)

You know what I want to see?

A common trend in a number (not all, but still quite a few) Miraculous salt fics is that the class forces a vote for a new Class Representative and Lila ends up winning. This is always used as a major blow for Marinette, full of angst and hurt feelings that Lila turned everyone against her and no one trusts her anymore. Sometimes this also eventually results in Lila ignoring her duties and/or putting them off on Alya, with the class giving barely any notice until it’s far too late. Usually long after Marinette has transferred to a different school or class and far long after the class should have started to notice the complete lack of any progress or even effort on Lila’s part in following through with any of her claims.

So much like the “torn notebook” plot, I’d love to see this turned on its head. Because reasonably speaking, the Class Rep position is actually harder than it looks and involves a lot of planning, coordination, requests to the school administration, and just a whole load of busywork to get anything done. And most people don’t realize that.

So let’s go with the general concept: The class have been taken in by Lila, following her like she’s hung the moon and believing her lies about Marinette being a “bully”. Adrien does nothing to help. And all of her now former friends completely neglect to notice all the ways Marinette has been going well out of her way to help them, both as a friend AND as the Class Rep.

Then eventually, under Lila’s manipulations, the class figures that since Lila is so awesome, she could do a much more amazing job as the Class Rep than Marinette. She could call in favors to set up awesome trips, bring in celebrities she knows for little Q and A sessions, and use her great skills to set up great events like the school dance! Surely anything she is involved in would be a hundred times better than what Marinette could come up with! Ignoring, of course, that Lila doesn’t HAVE to be the Class Rep to actually help in any of those things, but salt fics in general and even the show itself as a whole haven’t exactly shown the classmates to be smart unless they specifically are needed to be for one reason or another.

Thus the class demand from Ms. Bustier that they do a new vote for Class Rep. And of course the rest of the class insists they want it to be Lila.

Lila of course gasps and puts on an act of being surprised and completely unaware they were planning this, how wonderful they are to consider her for such an important role, and while making less than subtle jabs at Marinette in any number of ways (her “bullying”, her “inability to handle the role”, etc). All while sending secret smirks at Marinette when she thinks no one is looking.

Contrary to everyone’s expectations, Marinette doesn’t get upset. She doesn’t get mad or despondent. She’s not even hurt. Instead, she smiles.

Lila thinks she’s trying to hide the pain. The class is uncertain. Adrien is worried. All of them were thinking Marinette would respond quite poorly to being ousted from her position.

In actuality, Marinette just had a whole lot of weight taken off her shoulders.

It is either at this point or the next day that Marinette drops the bombshells. All of them. At once. In the form of a multitude of papers and documents on Lila’s desk.

These papers include a booklet of all of the Class Rep’s responsibilities, including regular daily/weekly meetings, tasks, duties, assignments, and of particular note: the process to go about arranging any of the number of things the class was wanting Lila to do. They also include forms. Forms upon forms. Some in triplicate. All empty and requiring Lila to fill them out.

Field trips? School dance? Any special events? They have to be requested and approved by the school board. And each one has to have a set budget and detailed plan prearranged before they will be approved. Meaning the Class Rep’s job is to contact the places, get the dates and times for reservations as well as the cost, and ensure safety and adequate personnel to man the events.

Not only that, but these events cost money. Money that the school has no reason or desire to shell out. So that requires student-planned and operated fundraisers. Which also require planning, locations and times for the fundraiser to be run, details of what they’re intending to do to earn money, forms to fill out, and a request to the school board for permission to do.

While Marinette had been the Class Rep, she’d already had all of this planned out to a T. The necessary fundraisers. School trips. The school dance. Even entertainment for the dance, which was a shame, since she had made arrangements for Jagged to come play the music for the night. The documents had been filled out, signed, and every line dotted. The only thing left to do had been to go to the school board and convince them…requiring a meeting with all parties that had to be scheduled and conveniently enough, had actually been arranged for that very week.

And no, Lila isn’t going to get by on Marinette’s plans.

Since Lila and the class insisted the liar already had better plans lined up than anything Marinette could come up with, Marinette happily steps aside and tells her to go for it.

In fact, she has such faith in Lila’s abilities, she’s going to step aside and let her shine. By taking all the arrangements she’d made for the class and cancelling every single one of them. So she starts calling people, all the different groups and agencies and businesses involved in these plans to apologize and retract her reservations. Maybe even going so far as to do so in front of the class as proof.

The high end hotels she had already made reservations with? Cancelled.

The popular museums and tourist sites she’d reached out to? Cancelled.

The transportation needed to get to those places? Cancelled. 

The caterer she had been working with to set up food for the dance? Cancelled. 

Then she calls up Jagged, on a video call in front of the entire class, apologizes for wasting his time, and cancels his appearance at the dance.

Oh, and the fundraisers? They were all going to be bake sales. With contributions from the Dupain-Cheng bakery to be used as products FOR FREE. So the kids running the fundraiser would have gotten a net profit automatically since it IS Marinette’s parents’ bakery. But since Marinette isn’t the Class Rep anymore, she doesn’t have to run it or work out any special arrangements with her parents to get the goodies to sell off (which she reminds the class would be at a loss to her parents, no less). And no, Tom and Sabine aren’t going to extend Lila the same deal.

And let’s not forget, there are the forms that Lila has to fill out to get permission for any of it. The multi-paged, mind-numbingly evil forms that no normal person can make sense of. And she has to fill out ALL of them.

All are things she had worked out ahead of time. All were needed to arrange any of the special events the class wanted. Now Lila is going to have to do it all herself, and no, Marinette isn’t going to help her with any of it.

Because, after all, they said themselves that whatever she’d planned won’t be nearly as great as what Lila can come up with.

So Marinette sets the pile on a paling Lila’s desk, cheerfully tells her that from here, it’s all Lila. And proceeds to thank Lila for taking the job off her hands since now that she’s no longer the Class Rep, she’ll have more time to finish her commissions and devote to her gaming.

“Thanks, Lila! I couldn’t have asked for a better replacement.”

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 1: the assassin and his servant | AO3

CW: Suicide, blood, injury, referenced childhood trauma, mild violence

It is no surprise that the League of Assassins has its own fair share of enemies at its tail. Yet recently, there has been an onslaught of attacks, prompting its members to switch between the network of bases—its young heir is no exception. The third base to house Damian sits between two frosted peaks towering over a Tibetan village, first founded by the demon's daughter herself. Though the instigator of the attacks is unknown, it seems that the abilities of the opposing group is nearly on par with the trained assassins. Damian has scoffed at this piece of information; no one stands at the same level as the League.  

Unfortunately, Damian has been kept away from the frontlines under Talia's strict instructions despite his insistence to fight. Knowing his status, Damian begrudgingly complied to escape and hide. Even if the food is cold and the night wind sometimes sneaks in to bite his bones, he sits still to wait for news announcing that it's safe to return to the main base.   

He sits up on his creaky bed. The ends of the sheets are fraying, and the floors are ice cold, with the gray and brown meshing into a drabby color. The only semblance of a decoration is his twin katanas leaning off the side of his bed frame. It's a far cry from the home he knows, though his routine is mostly unchanged: training from dawn to dusk. But he can tell this day is different. From the commotion happening outside the room and the lingering tension in the air, Damian deduces that another attack is on the way.  

Finally, his thoughts are confirmed when he hears the door open. "Master Damian?"  

He has his back turned to her, his servant, but he can already picture out her presence. An unsteady stance dwarfed in a thick coat, calloused hands wrapped in fingerless gloves, cheeks that have lost a tad bit of their rosiness nowadays, and hair pushed back into twin braids. A child just like him, but raised an assassin nonetheless. "Lady Talia wishes for you to be relocated again. We will use the back tunnel and rendezvous with our guides halfway down the mountains. They will escort us to out—"  

"Where are we relocating to?"  

". . . I don't know, Master."  

She swiftly moves to the side to pack his things. Damian picks up his weapons, biting back the habitual click of his tongue. He's sick of the cycle, feeling like a coward running away endlessly. "And why can't we hold them off?"  

"We do not have enough people. Between guarding the Demon Head and the Pits, and covering all bases . . . The enemies have become too much to handle." Marie ties together the strings of the backpack, before strapping a rolled-up sleeping bag on top.  

"If our assassins are competent enough, we would not be struggling ," Damian hisses.  

The servant doesn't reply, but he catches the twitch of her upper lip. Like him, Marie has been forbidden from fighting the enemies, but she has been helping with the supplies and cleaning, apart from assisting him in training. She should know how weak the League has become.  

"We will leave in five minutes," she says, offering his coat to him.  

"What if I don't want to leave?" 

"I am sorry, Master, but Lady Talia said—"  

"Nevermind what Mother said. I can do it. I can fight."  

Marie's expression changes just a little, and her hand reaches up to clutch her sleeve. He knows that even though she serves under him, she mostly answers to his mother. And defying Talia had greater consequences. It is not the first time Damian has wanted to go against higher orders; Marie has often eased him into not breaking the rules. 

"I think it is better for you to reserve your energy for training, Master. Let the rest of us worry about the enemies." 

"Tt. Grandfather should do something about this."  

When Marie finally persuades him, they venture out to the winding halls. She navigates expertly, avoiding the rings of the gunshots and clashing of swords. Damian knows that they are near the exit when he feels the chilling gust of wind. The rocky snow-topped terrain welcomes them outside—there is only white and gray for miles that everything looks like a lifeless desert. Damian blinks against the sunlight, puffs of fogged breath floating along his vision. In the snowy landscape, Marie looks even paler, as if her skin has become translucent.  

The swords on Damian's back feel heavier too. He has found that fighting in the cold is more troublesome—his joints are hardened, and the blood rushes out of his limbs. The stiffness of his muscles limit his movement and the thin air makes it difficult to breathe. Their escape party is too vulnerable, and if they were to encounter a hostile group, he will have to make the kill quick.  

He glances at Marie every now and then. Her skills are average, and she looks smaller when bundled up. He doesn't miss the way she favors one foot when she trudges in the snow. Though she has been mentored by Talia, she is not like his mother, nor like the other women he is familiar with, like Nyssa or Lady Shiva. She's practically dead weight for Damian. An easy target.  

He doesn't remember when she first started serving under him. He only recalls huffing in annoyance seeing the tiny girl hanging around on the sidelines as he trained, occasionally joining him for a spar. He only knows her as the one who brings his food, supplies him with his secondary weapons, escapes into other bases with him, and acts as his mother's slave. She looks more attuned to the civilians in the towns Damian sees during his missions, not someone who has blood in her hands. Rarely does she show emotion, not even some annoyance or defeat when he easily beats her during practice, not even flinching when the other servants delivered sharp slaps on her arms, not even a hint of awe like when Damian first gazed upon the second League base in Nepal. Her expressions are usually blank or incomplete, as if she suppresses her reactions.  

She marches close to him, head darting around to check for danger. Damian stops and asks, "How long until we meet the guides?"  

"We have one day of travel, Master."  

"One day? Could they have not sent a plane?"  

"It's too risky…"  

Damian clenches his jaw. A day of hiking through frozen hell. He pulls his hood over his head and quickens his pace.  

"Wait, Master, we should slow down." Marie calls after.  

He doesn't care. The faster they walk, the faster they can meet up with their allies and get out of there.  

"Master, wait—" A thump sounds out. Damian looks behind him to see Marie scrambling to get up. 

"Tt. You could have stayed behind if you can't even walk."  

Marie mumbles her apologies while catching up to him. "We should keep ourselves from tiring out quickly. There is still a long way to go."  

"What if the enemies catch up to us?" 

"They will not." She purses her lips. "They should not know you're escaping. They should not know you're here in the first place."  

"They always know." Damian continues along the nonexistent path. "I'm certain there are moles here."  

As they keep walking, Marie sometimes wobbles with the humongous bag but she doesn't trip again.  Damian doesn't keep count how many steps they have taken or how long they walk, but soon he starts to stagger and shiver, and the sun fades away slowly. Marie directs them to a small cave carved out on the side of a cliff. It is small and still cold, but it will do for the night. Damian gives in to his aching legs, putting his swords in front of him, while Marie sets up the camp. She kindles a humble fire and takes out the supplies to make a meal.  

"A seating mat, Master?" Marie lays out a folded cloth off to the side. Damian crawls to it wordlessly, leaning against the bumpy wall and draping an arm over his eyes. 

She hugs her knees and watches the boiling water. "There might be a storm tonight. I can cover up the entrance, but I do not know how well it will hold up."  

He doesn't reply.  

"Any food you prefer, Master?" 

"What difference does it make? It's all tasteless meal kits."  

"But—" 

"I don't care. Whatever you can make."  

"If we wake up early, we can reach our destination in time," Marie continues, "It is colder in the morning but I have heat packs in the bag."  

“...” 

Damian peeks as she cooks a simple stew. The aroma spreads around the cave, mingling with the shadows created by the fire. The warmth chases away the chill just a little. His servant seems to note his unwillingness to make small talk, so they eat their meals in complete silence, basking in the crackling flames instead. Marie unrolls the sleeping bag and positions herself near the opening of the cave with a knife in hand.  

"Please get some sleep, Master Damian. I will keep watch," says Marie.  

Damian rolls to face the ceiling. Camp-outs are often bleak, and he practically has to sleep with one eye open. But owing to the soreness of his body, he drifts into deep slumber. He has no clue how long he sleeps but when he wakes up, the fire has gone small and the numbed pain in his back has become more persistent. Damian sits up to see Marie staring off blankly into the foggy snowstorm. She's trembling badly and her chapped lips have turned into a light shade of blue. They make brief eye contact before she jumps up to push out the little snow starting to pile up at the opening.  

Damian averts his gaze, buries deeper into the sleeping bag, and thinks to himself how foolish it is for her to stay awake and away from the fire.  

He lies awake instead of going back to sleep as the  cold has won over his drowsiness. An eternity of gazing up at the darkness, his eyelids begin to feel heavy— 

Damian's hand darts up to grab the wrist hovering over him. “What are you doing?” 

Marie recoils back in surprise. "Hea—heat pack, Master. You looked cold."  

"Tt. Forget it. I will get one myself if I'm cold."  

Marie nods weakly, lowly muttering her apologies again, and returns to her post.  

***

The next time Damian wakes, it's from noises nearby. The morning light has spilled into the cave, and the fire has reduced into ash and some smoke. The second thing he notices is the lack of Marie's presence—Damian scrambles up and runs towards the cave opening to see his servant locked in a fight with a stranger just on the edge of the cliff. An enemy assassin perhaps. He has her pinned to the ground, but her fingers are tightly wound around his neck. Marie lets out a choked scream when the man jams the hilt of his weapon on her injured foot.  

Damian immediately pulls out his katana and swipes at the enemy's neck. He tugs Marie by the collar and kicks the man's large body off the drop. After looking around for other assassins he looks down on his servant, who's already making a makeshift splint from her knife holder despite her ragged breathing and the cut running across her hairline. 

"Where's the bag?" Damian asks, wiping off the hint of blood from his blade.  

Marie's eyes widen up at him, and they slowly follow down the height of the cliff.  

"Really? You can barely hold off an enemy and you've lost our supplies?" Damian's hand clenches around his sword.  

"I am sorry, Master, I was packing up and—and I was about to wake you." Her voice wavers. "I—I still have some food in my belt—" 

" Save it," he cuts her off. "We have to get down from here as fast as we can."  

Even if that assassin is a lone wanderer, they can't risk another similar encounter. If that happens, Damian isn't certain if he can keep himself alive, much less the both of them, especially if they're overwhelmed by numbers. He curses at his stiff hands; he could've been much faster if it were any other circumstance.  

"I—I am sorry, Master," Marie gasps out.  

"I said save it." Damian begins to hike again, and she follows while limping after crawling into the cave and packing up his sleeping bag.  

He's surprised that she survived and held off the assassin, but she did so sloppily that her injury was aggravated. Because of that, they will be slowed down indefinitely, unless he chooses to venture on ahead. That is the truth in the League of Assassins: that kind of weakness isn't tolerated, even if she has some ability to defend herself. Those incapable are quickly rooted out, and those who are prodigies train to become more vicious.  

Damian momentarily halts when he observes that the path has narrowed down. They can still cross and climb down, but after one wrong move, they will be falling into a merciless death. He tests the rock, moving one step at a time and clinging onto the shallow crevices of the wall.  

He turns to Marie. “Climbing gear?”  

She bows her head in guilt. “Inside the bag . . . Master.”  

“That is your own fault,” he spits out. “If you cannot cross this, I'm not helping you.”  

He feels her trying to follow closely, but her balance is dangerously off. Damian watches as she struggles to walk through. Her breaths are unsteady as she keeps her gaze on her feet. On top of that, she's shivering more than the previous day.  

When Marie makes a misstep and gasps sharply when she slips, Damian jumps in to grab her sleeve to keep her from falling. She swallows and thanks him, to which he sternly directs to hold onto him as they cross. It takes them a longer while than he hoped for, but they finally come towards a more spacious and safer landing. Still, the bottom of the mountain is still too far to see.  

“I thought Mother sent you to escort and protect me,” he tuts, looking down at her as she collapses on her knees to catch her breath. “Yet you are slowing us down and putting both our lives in danger.”  

“You . . . you are right, Master. Forgive me.” She coughs a little, rubbing the area near her wound. “But I was trying to protect you—”  

“You were as good as dead if I had not stepped in. Who were you trying to protect?”  

“I apologize for my inadequacy.” She has lowered herself into a deep bow, head touching the snow. “Please punish me or kill me as you wish. We are nearing the meeting point anyway; I will be of no use soon.”  

“Tt. You don't even deserve to perish by my hand.” Damian looks down at her in distaste. The heir of the League should not be accompanied by such a servant in the first place. It's already a miracle that she has survived for this long, and he doesn't want to get rid of the little help she can offer. Perhaps as a convenient shield if they encounter enemies again.  

“Stand up,” he orders. “You are delaying us again.”  

She carefully does so, but when she shows her face again, Damian is nearly taken aback, seeing her again up close. Her forehead is smeared with dried blood and the side of her face is slightly swollen. But what surprises him is her usual dead eyes are now glistening with tears.  

“You are right, Master. I should not delay us any longer.” Marie sniffles, moving over to the edge.  

“Wh—what—”  

“I am sorry for not meeting your expectations. There is no excuse for my actions.” She takes out her knife.  

“Wait—” 

“Our allies are nearby; it will not take long.”  

Red. All that fills his vision is red: bold, flowing red against the canvas that is the frost. The intricately-carved hilt sticks out of her abdomen, spreading the ghastly color into her clothes. The blood isn't anything new for Damian to see, but he has never seen it like this.  

The white sky and red.  

Her white fingers and red.  

The white shine of the blade and red.  

Heavy drops spill onto the snow, then crushed underneath her boot as she sways backwards.  

“Please take care . . . Master Damian.”  

Before he can tell his body to move, she has disappeared by the hand of gravity, falling until the fog covers up. Damian wonders where the scream he hears comes from until he realizes his throat is hoarse.  

***

Damian jolts awake, cold sweat slithering down the nape of his neck. It takes him a second to realize that he is in his bedroom in the Wayne manor, and the sun is yet to rise. He shivers even though he feels warm, as if the memory of the cold has followed him back to reality. Frustrated, he tugs hard at his hair as he tries to even out his breaths.  

He just dreamed of that again.  

Next Chapter →

i literally love tim’s mind and how his mind connects dots SO EASILY. like he looked at ohn and his glitching, and instead of thinking it was an isolated incident, due to him being a scientist/mutant he went “yep. Yep. Peters got this too. Gotta let em know” and in the same convo told them. I think it’s the communication? Like how he communicated this pretty easily with Dick and Peter that’s making my brain go “brrrr FINALLY GOOD COMMUNICATION SKILLS”

it drives me up the wall when things that should be talked about immediately aren't,,, especially considering that in real life, the first thing you would do in that situation is go to someone you trust and say "dude you are not gonna believe what just happened" and then would try to tell them everything from the beginning to now. it's different when it's an insecurity or when someone is actively avoiding talking about something, but i try to clear up emotional issues as fast as they happen. because miscommunication is only fun when it adds to the story and doesn't make you want to tear your hair out

Small fantasy worldbuilding elements you might want to think about:

A currency that isn’t gold-standard/having gold be as valuable as tin

A currency that runs entirely on a perishable resource, like cocoa beans

A clock that isn’t 24-hours

More or less than four seasons/seasons other than the ones we know

Fantastical weather patterns like irregular cloud formations, iridescent rain

Multiple moons/no moon

Planetary rings

A northern lights effect, but near the equator

Roads that aren’t brown or grey/black, like San Juan’s blue bricks

Jewelry beyond precious gems and metals

Marriage signifiers other than wedding bands

The husband taking the wife's name / newlyweds inventing a new surname upon marriage

No concept of virginity or bastardry

More than 2 genders/no concept of gender

Monotheism, but not creationism

Gods that don’t look like people

Domesticated pets that aren’t re-skinned dogs and cats

Some normalized supernatural element that has nothing to do with the plot

Magical communication that isn’t Fantasy Zoom

“Books” that aren’t bound or scrolls

A nonverbal means of communicating, like sign language

A race of people who are obligate carnivores/ vegetarians/ vegans/ pescatarians (not religious, biological imperative)

I’ve done about half of these myself in one WIP or another and a little detail here or there goes a long way in reminding the audience that this isn’t Kansas anymore.